And there are no convictions against me, beyond a few little
military jobs. There's nothing on my name."
"Well, what about it? I don't care a damn."
"I'm going to tell you. Take my name. Take it--I give it you; as
long as neither of us has any family."
"Your name?"
"Yes; you'll call yourself Leonard Carlotti, that's all. 'Tisn't a
big job. What harm can it do you? Straight off, you've no more
convictions. They won't hunt you out, and you can be as happy as I
should have been if this bullet hadn't gone through my magazine."
"Oh Christ!" said the other, "you'd do that? You'd--that--well, old
chap, that beats all!"
"Take it. It's there in my pocket-book in my greatcoat. Go on, take
it, and hand yours over to me--so that I can carry it all away with
me. You'll be able to live where you like, except where I come from,
where I'm known a bit, at Longueville in Tunis. You'll remember
that? And anyway, it's written down. You must read it, the
pocket-book. I shan't blab to anybody. To bring the trick off
properly, mum's the word, absolutely."
He ponders a moment, and then says with a shiver "I'll p'raps tell
Louise, so's she'll find I've done the right thing, and think the
better of me, when I write to her to say good-by."
But he thinks better of it, and shakes his head with an heroic
effort. "No--I shan't let on, even to her. She's her, of course, but
women are such chatterers!"
The other man looks at him, and repeats, "Ah, nome de Dieu!"
Without being noticed by the two men I leave the drama narrowly
developing in this lamentable corner and its jostling and traffic
and hubbub.
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