He plucked at the withered flowers which the old man had thrown him. He
could detect their sweet scent above the pungent fumes of tobacco and as
Obadiah's triumphant chuckle recurred to him, the gloating joy in his
eyes, the passionate tremble of his voice, a grim smile passed over his
face. The mystery was easy of solution--if he was willing to reason
along certain lines. But he was not willing. He had formed his own
picture of Strang's wife and it pleased him to keep it. At moments he
half conceded himself a fool, but that did not trouble him. The longer
he smoked the more his old confidence and his old recklessness returned
to him. He had enjoyed his adventure. The next day he would end it. He
would go openly into St. James and have done his business with Strang.
Then he would return to his ship. What had he, Captain Plum, to do with
Strang's wife?
But even after he had determined on these things his brain refused to
rest. He paced back and forth across the narrow room, thinking of the
man whom he was to meet to-morrow--of Strang, the one-time schoolmaster
and temperance lecturer who had made himself a king, who for seven years
had defied the state and nation, and who had made of his island
stronghold a hot-bed of polygamy, of licentiousness, of dissolute power.
His blood grew hot as he thought again of the beautiful girl who had
appealed to him. Obadiah had said that she was the king's wife. Still--
Thoughts flashed into his head which for a time made him forget his
mission on the island.
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