He
frequented everybody, and asked questions in the meticulous German way.
He wandered all over the island--islands, I should say, for once or
twice I saw him banging off in a creaky motor-boat to the other jewels
of the necklace. Guesses as to his real business were free and frequent.
He was a pearl-smuggler; the agent of a Queensland planter; a fugitive
from justice; a mad scientist; a servant of the Imperial German
Government. No one presumed to certitude--which was in itself a tribute
to German efficiency. Schneider was blond and brush-haired and
thick-lipped; he was unpleasant from the crown of his ill-shaped head to
the soles of his ill-shaped shoes; but, though lacking in every charm,
he was not sinister. He had seen curious places and amusing things, and
could cap most adventures with something relevant; but his type and
temperament prevented him from being a "good mixer," and he was not
popular.
Stires, however, had his own grievance, and his judgment of Schneider
went deep. He did not mind the shape of Schneider's skull, or the hint
of goose-step in Schneider's gait; but he minded, very much, the kind of
interest that Schneider took in French Eva. He told me that, straight,
emphasizing his statements with a rusty spanner, which he wielded in a
curious, classical way, like a trident.
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