"I have seen it often.
After all, we shall have our journey for nothing, it seems."
"How for nothing?"
"The House is at Milan. You know, we are a Wine House at Neuchatel, and
a Silk House at Milan? Well, Silk happening to press of a sudden, more
than Wine, Defresnier was summoned to Milan. Rolland, the other partner,
has been taken ill since his departure, and the doctors will allow him to
see no one. A letter awaits you at Neuchatel to tell you so. I have it
from our chief carrier whom you saw me talking with. He was surprised to
see me, and said he had that word for you if he met you. What do you do?
Go back?"
"Go on," said Vendale.
"On?"
"On? Yes. Across the Alps, and down to Milan."
Obenreizer stopped in his smoking to look at Vendale, and then smoked
heavily, looked up the road, looked down the road, looked down at the
stones in the road at his feet.
"I have a very serious matter in charge," said Vendale; "more of these
missing forms may be turned to as bad account, or worse: I am urged to
lose no time in helping the House to take the thief; and nothing shall
turn me back."
"No?" cried Obenreizer, taking out his cigar to smile, and giving his
hand to his fellow-traveller. "Then nothing shall turn _me_ back. Ho,
driver! Despatch. Quick there! Let us push on!"
They travelled through the night. There had been snow, and there was a
partial thaw, and they mostly travelled at a foot-pace, and always with
many stoppages to breathe the splashed and floundering horses.
Pages:
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142