"Well
enough, Rimmle, in their way. 'Tis true I can tell of blockades evaded
and corvettes slipped, of customs officers bedevilled, of tricks on
slow-tacking junks, and of dancing with creoles under the moon. But what
is that? The heedless, unplanned adventuring of an irresponsible
American captain. Now you, if you cared to talk, Rimmle, you, I warrant,
could tell of big things, things which concern great people--of
admirals and governors and what not; for you, it is well known, Rimmle,
have your own bureau of information."
Rimmle chuckled. "It is true"--and then he paused. Captain Blaise
refilled their glasses. In courtly imitation of the Captain, Rimmle
raised his and they drank.
Captain Blaise filled them up again. "Men like myself, Rimmle, are but
pawns in this trading game. It is the people on the inside, the Governor
of Momba and gentlemen like you, who direct the play."
Rimmle smacked his lips. "M-m--To be sure, the Governor of Momba--"
There was a half-hour of anecdotes of the Governor of Momba and his son
before Cunningham's name was even mentioned; and when the question of
him was slipped, so casually was it slipped that I, with senses
astretch, did not realize that this must be the sick man at Momba--not
until the next question was put.
"But there must have been something else, Rimmle, between the Governor
and Cunningham?"
Now, had they been drinking ordinary wine or heavy ale, Rimmle might
have held his own.
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