“This is no country for illusions. Things go naked here--damned naked.” “And only language is adorned?” Durnovo laughed. He had to be alert to keep up with Jack Meredith--to understand his speech; and he rather liked the necessity, which was a change after the tropic indolence in which he had moved. “Swearing, you mean,” he replied. “Hope you don't mind it?” “Not a bit. Do it myself.” At this moment Joseph, the servant, brought coffee served up in tin cups. “First-class dinner,” said Durnovo. “The best dinner I have had for years. Clever chap, your man!” The last remark was made as much for the servant's edification as for the master's, and it was accompanied by an inviting smile directed towards Joseph. Of this the man took no notice whatever. He came from a world where masters and masters' guests know their place and keep it, even after a good dinner. The evening had turned out so very differently from what he had expected that Durnovo was a little off his balance. Things were so sociable and pleasant in comparison with the habitual loneliness of his life. The fire crackled so cheerily, the moon shone down on the river so grandly, the subdued chatter of the boatmen imparted such a feeling of safety and comfort to the scene, that he gave way to that impulse of expansiveness which ever lurks in West Indian blood. “I say,” he said, “when you told me that you wanted to make money, were you in earnest?” “In the deadliest earnest,” replied Jack Meredith, in the half-mocking tone which he never wholly learnt to lay aside. “Then I think I can put you in the way of it. Oh, I know it seems a bit premature--not known you long enough, and all that. But in this country we don't hold much by the formalities. I like you. I liked the look of you when you got out of that boat--so damned cool and self-possessed. You're the right sort, Mr. Meredith.” “Possibly--for some things. For sitting about and smoking first-class cigars and thinking second-class thoughts I am exactly the right sort. But for making money, for hard work and steady work, I am afraid, Mr. Durnovo, that I am distinctly the wrong sort.” “Now you're chaffing again. Do you always chaff?” “Mostly; it lubricates things, doesn't it?” There was a little pause. Durnovo looked round as if to make sure that Joseph and the boatmen were out of earshot. “Can you keep a secret?” he asked suddenly. Jack Meredith turned and looked at the questioner with a smile. His hat had slipped to the back of his head, the light of the great yellow moon fell full upon his clean-cut, sphinx-like face. The eyes alone seemed living. “Yes! I can do that.”