Ben overslept. That is to put it mildly. He woke with a start to discover that it was five o'clock. After magnifying his conduct in appropriate language he hurried on deck to look for Dare. But there was no sign of Dare either on board or ashore on the quay.
Ben, frankly, did not quite know what to do then. He thought it queer that Dare should not have roused him at the hour they had arranged to meet. Perhaps Dare had not come back at all. Or could it be that he had returned and, finding him, Ben, asleep, had gone ashore again? Ben was more inclined to think the former. And from thinking thus he began to wonder why Dare had not returned. Had he been prevented? Was he hurt? Ben turned cold at the thought of harm coming to the "cap'n's boy" while the latter was, in a way, under his care.
Well, there was no use in sitting still, he decided, and set out to make inquiries. The men hanging about the quay helped him little. They could not remember seeing anyone of Dare's description in their vicinity during the last hour or so. Ben, shaking off their negatives impatiently, plunged across the square in the direction of the barber's shop. It was possible the barber might have noted which direction Dare had taken when he left the premises.
The barber, an exquisite to his finger-tips, scented, hair curled, beard drawn silkily to a point, smiled professionally as Ben entered, but lost some of his interest when he discovered that Ben was there merely to ask questions. He could, as it happened, speak English, and he began to do so with those flourishes most Latins find necessary in their attempts at self-expression.
A youth? English? But no. But yes! It is to say, a young man, blond, sans barbe, with the air pleasing, and muscular, oh yes, muscular, most decidedly. The young man had come to his shop at two of the clock, but what he had come for it was not to be known, for to the most astonishment this young man after a reading of the journal short and inadequate, considering that it was the most admirable "Journal of the Débats," that young man had thrown down the journal with force and had run, yes decidedly, run from the shop with a manner excitable, l'air excité.
Ben listened with impatience, following the long rambling sentence with difficulty, due to the accent of the speaker.
"But what way did he go?" he demanded of the barber.
Oh, as to that, it was to be regretted, but it was not known. Tiens, no! The young man had gone so quickly.
Ben, seeing there was no more to be learned there, thanked his informant gruffly, and like an annoyed bear set off once again on his search, grumbling audibly at himself and the inadequacy of the information he had received.
Now what could have caused Mr. Dare to run from the shop like that? Something interesting, belike. Or it may have been no more than a dog fight or a fight between street boys, which was much the same thing, seen from the shop window. In any event the fight, or whatever it was that had had him out of the place so quickly, was long over now. That was no explanation of his failure to turn up at three o'clock. But had he failed to turn up? How did he, Ben, know? He didn't know and he had to admit it.
He crossed the square in a humour which was a mixture of chagrin and anxiety, though as yet he could not very well see in what there was cause for the latter. It was broad daylight, and St. Pierre wasn't Port Said by any means; and a boy ought to be as safe on its streets as in St. John's. Still, there was no denying that there were more facilities for trouble in the French town for a venturesome lad, and Mr. Dare was all of that.
He returned to the quay and took a look at the Nancy in case Dare had returned, but the boy was still missing. Ben bethought him then of their intention to visit Giraud. What more likely than that Dare, not finding him waiting on the quay, had gone on to Giraud's alone? The boy might be there even now, still waiting for him.
At this thought Ben's mood lightened and he set out for Giraud's in the hope of reaching it before the store closed.
It was a comparatively easy matter to find one's way to Giraud's. Giraud had seen to that. From the harbour one could see the towering sign on his store, and once on shore, there was always to be seen round some corner or other, the one word, Giraud's.
The premises were next the dry dock on the opposite side of the waterfront. Dark, dingy, huge, lacking paint and adequate windows, the place was impressive only because of the vast quantities of merchandise it stored.
Huge butts of rum and brandy, seven feet in diameter, nearly all on tap, lay in the darkest regions. Piles of rope, mountains of paint tins, great anchors, barrels of tar, ochre, bales of oakum, etc., filled another section, and still another part of the premises was given up to lighter articles such as soap, tobacco, ship's biscuit, cheese, and margarine. All these commodities, each with a distinctive odour, gave the place an atmosphere indescribable. It was too strong to be attractive to most people, yet to some it was very pleasing, none the less.
Ben, who was not over delicate in such matters, wrinkled his nose in appreciation as he entered the store.
The entrance gave upon a small space which had the semblance of an office, with various merchandise as its walls. A cash register, a few account books, and a desk of polished wood on high rickety legs, together with an old clerk, deaf and shortsighted, completed the paraphernalia of the place.
Ben entered this space, gave "good day" to the deaf old clerk, and then looked about him for someone in authority—Giraud, if possible.
Down long lanes of merchandise he caught sight of several clerks and a number of customers. He hesitated which way to take, then was saved the necessity of choice by the appearance of the proprietor.
Ben recognized him from descriptions heard on the waterfront, and from a glimpse he had had of him in the old days. It was not a figure to be forgotten, once seen. Giraud was a man of commanding presence. His bulk alone inspired respect. He was enormously tall for a Frenchman, over six feet, and his immense girth, his great rounding shoulders, gave a suggestion of bull strength. On top of this great mass of flesh was set a head which, in proportion with the trunk, looked ridiculously small. The face was clean shaven, and under a low forehead were set two crafty-looking eyes which hid their cunning, under heavy half-lowered lids.
Ben was no more a match in duplicity for such a person than a new-born babe. He had the intelligence to realize this and decided that he would make the interview as short as possible.
Giraud's eyelids flicked once indifferently, and he felt that he knew all about Ben, his antecedents, his occupation, his very innermost thoughts.
"Mr. Giraud, I think," said Ben in his bluff, simple manner.
"Yes," admitted Giraud non-committally.
"I heerd of you from Sam Stooding," said Ben expansively. "I bought that there boat of his, the Nancy. A good boat, too, in her way. Sam finds out one way and another that I'm likely to make a trip to St. Pierre now and then, so he says to me, you take my word fer it, Ben—Ben Wheeler, that's me name—you take my word fer it, Ben, says Sam, you can't do better than trade at Giraud's if you ever think of bringin' in a little brandy or tobaccy. I got a good respect fer Sam; Sam knows what's what. So here I be and right glad to meet you, mister."
Giraud's face remained expressionless during this garrulous introduction, but he acknowledged Ben's cordiality with a slight nod not to be mistaken for the courtesy of a bow. He did not remember ever having heard Stooding's name before. But then, there were scores of his customers whom he never saw, much less knew by name, and it was not the first time that the indirect recommendation of such had had good results.
He had little interest in Ben or Ben's needs. He knew that the order would be a small one, ridiculously small, he suspected, and as such it could very well be turned over to some subordinate. He was too good a business man, however, to show his feelings, whatever they were, and he proceeded with cut-and-dried flattering phrases to express his pleasure at Ben's having singled out his store for patronage.
Then he turned from Ben to call a clerk to attend to him. Ben, however, having guessed his intention, put up a deprecatory hand.
"I won't be tradin' fer a day or so," he said. "I just looked in to say howdy-do and to give your place a look over. Now I've done that and seen you, I'll be on my way. But I'll be back—oh aye, you can depend on that."
Giraud's eyelids flicked once again as though there were something in Ben's tone which he did not quite understand. Ben, who was looking as stupid as possible, noted this sign of aroused interest and proceeded to go. He had a feeling, rightly, that this big man was even more dangerous mentally than physically.
"Well, I reckon that's all," he pronounced heartily, and was about to turn away when he remembered what he had hitherto completely forgotten, that he was there to inquire about Dare.
"Now dang me! if I hadn't nearly forgot," he burst out. "My nevvy, you ain't seen my nevvy by any chance, I s'pose?"
Giraud, who was by now somewhat bored by Ben's presence, looked bewildered.
"Your what?" he asked.
"My nevvy," explained Ben. "A fine boy, gone eighteen, tall, with light curly hair and a laughin' face. He was goin' to meet me here, but blessed if I can see him."
"Oh, your nephew," said Giraud enlightenedly. "No, I have not seen him. But he may be here. The place is large. If you care to look around——" He waved his hand vaguely and indifferently towards the various departments with their mountainous barriers of merchandise, and taking Ben's acceptance of his invitation for granted, moved off.
He had not proceeded half a dozen paces, however, when a man nearly as impressive in appearance as himself entered the store, and sighting Giraud, exclaimed, "Ah, mon vieux, vous êtes là!"
"So, Pierre!" exclaimed Giraud, suddenly animated; "but enter. I have been waiting for you. The stores, they are safely on board, yes?"
"Mais oui," answered Pierre. "Ça va bien," and talking vivaciously he walked arm in arm with Giraud down one of the long aisles of goods leading to Giraud's private office.
Pierre is one of the most common names in St. Pierre, as it is in other French towns, yet, none the less, when Ben heard it pronounced by Giraud he did not doubt for a moment that the new-comer so called was the Pierre of whom Madame Roquierre had spoken. Considerably elated by his discovery, he determined to take advantage of this accidental meeting and his situation by hanging about and keeping his eye on Giraud's office and the men in it.
Pierre's appearance had, more than his significant name, convinced Ben that he was on the track of a redoubtable man. Pierre, like Giraud, was tall, but there all resemblance between the two ceased. Pierre was lithe as a tiger, walked with a pronounced swagger, and had a shrewd open eye and an easy facile smile which, strangely enough in one who seemed to be a Frenchman, showed between moustache and beard of a glaring red.
He was like no Frenchman that Ben had ever seen, and come to that, like no man of any other nation he had met.
Less formidable mentally than Giraud, he was, as Ben was old and wise enough to judge, more to be feared than the proprietor where action was required, or in times when passions ran riot. Extreme caution would certainly be needed in dealing with either of them.
Keeping an eye on the clerks and the customers, and taking care always to be in sight of the office door, Ben strolled about, stopping now and then to finger a piece of yarn or a boat-hook or some such thing, as though contemplating purchasing. He had kept watch for about half an hour when he was rewarded by the sight of the office door opening and Pierre and Giraud emerging.
As he was within their range of vision he made haste to slip behind a high bale of goods, and as he did so he very nearly exclaimed aloud, for facing him was Dare!
Dare was nearly as much excited by Ben's presence as Ben was by his, and would probably have expressed his feelings in speech if Pierre's voice, speaking French, had not suddenly reached their ears.
They stared at each other and realized that they were on the same quest, then without a word spoken they flattened themselves against the bales in case the two men should pass that way.
But Pierre, they soon learned, was leaving the store. They heard Giraud say "à demain," then heard him retreat in the direction of his office. Immediately they both headed for the street. They reached it just in time to see Pierre's rangy figure turn a corner, and followed hot-foot after him.
They had no time to exchange confidences or to give explanations at the moment, so concentrated were they on the affair in hand.
Pierre, they observed, was making by an indirect route for Treloar's wharf. And sure enough, at the end of ten minutes' walk, the trail ended there. Pierre, who had not, it seemed, the slightest suspicion that he was being followed, whistled for a boat and in a few minutes was being rowed towards the shipping in the centre of the harbour.
Dare and Ben ran on to the wharf and whistled for a boat also, but there was not one to be had. All they could do was to wait and see if possible what ship Pierre was boarding. They were fortunate in this, for Pierre boarded a small schooner on the edge of the shipping.
"Now we've got to row out there and find out her name," declared Dare, speaking to Ben for the first time since their encounter, "or we may not know her again."
"I'd know her," stated Ben, who had been eyeing the schooner closely and expertly.
"All the same, we ought to know her name," insisted Dare, "and the best time to find it out is while she's under our eyes."
"Aye, perhaps you're right," said Ben, "but I wouldn't want them on board to catch us at it."
"Who's going to notice a rowboat passing astern?" asked Dare, and certainly in such a maze of shipping not much attention was likely to be paid to them.
They hurried on board the Nancy, and drawing up their dory, proceeded to make their way out into the harbour where lay their objective.
The schooner Pierre had boarded was a swift-looking little craft of about sixty tons, neatly rigged, painted dead black, with her deck bare of the fishing dories which most of her type in the harbour carried. Her deck seemed deserted.
It was growing dusk when Ben and Dare neared her, and they could not read her name on her bow, it being very faintly painted. They made a detour and passed under the stern, and there they read plainly enough the legend: "Mary Lee, St. John's, Nfld."
"Well," said Ben in a harsh whisper as they rowed quietly by, "she's St. John's registered, but the feller who went on board her is a Frenchman or I'll eat my boots, though I do say he's the queerest lookin' Frenchman I ever seed."
"Partly," said Dare.
"Partly what?" asked Ben, not quite clear about what Dare was alluding to.
"Partly French. He's half English."
"How do you know?" asked Ben, surprised.
"I heard someone say so."
"You heard somebody say so!" repeated Ben.
"Yes. Ben, do you know who that fellow is?"
"I sartainly do," declared Ben, relishing his triumph. "That's the feller Pierre, that madame was talkin' about."
"It's Pierre all right," admitted Dare, "but, more than that, it's Payter!”