Treasure Hunt Tales: The Star of the South & Captain Antifer. Жюль Верн
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Omar in question. Ah! I like that! That he has come back is a good sign! Show him up, Nanon.”
“But he is not alone—”
“Not alone?” exclaimed Antifer. “And who then is with him?”
“A younger man whom I don’t know, and who looks like a foreigner.”
“Ah! There are two of them? Well, we shall be two to receive them! Stop here, Tregomain.”
“Do you wish it?”
An imperious gesture kept the worthy neighbour in his place. Another gesture indicated to Nanon that she was to show the visitors upstairs.
A minute afterwards they had been ushered into the room, the door of which was carefully shut. If the secrets that were to be revealed were to escape it would have to be through the keyhole.
“Ah! It is you, Mr. Ben Omar!” said Antifer, in a careless and haughty tone, very different to what he would have adopted had he gone to make the first advances at the hotel.
“Myself, Mr. Antifer.”
“And the person who accompanies you?”
“My head clerk.”
Antifer and Saouk, who was introduced under the name of Nazim, exchanged a look of indifference.
“Your clerk is acquainted with this business?” asked Antifer.
“He is, and his assistance is indispensable to me throughout this matter.”
“Be it so, Mr. Ben Omar. May I ask to what I owe the honour of this visit?”
“Another interview I wish to have with you, Mr. Antifer, with you alone,” he added, casting a side look at Tregomain, whose thumbs continued their twiddling.
“Gildas Tregomain, my friend,” replied Antifer, “late captain of the barge Charmante Amélie, who is also acquainted with this business, and whose assistance is no less indispensable than that of your clerk Nazim.”
It was impossible for Ben Omar to object. Immediately the four sat down round the table, on which the notary placed his portfolio. Then a certain silence reigned in the room until it pleased one or the other to speak.
Antifer broke the silence by addressing Ben Omar:
“Your clerk speaks French, I suppose?”
“No,” replied the notary.
“But he understands it?”
“Not much.”
This had been agreed between Saouk and Ben Omar, in the hope that Antifer, having no fear of being understood by the false Nazim, might let fall a few words of which advantage might be taken.
“And now, proceed, Mr. Ben Omar,” said Antifer, carelessly. “Your intention is to resume the conversation that ended abruptly yesterday?”
“Certainly.”
“Then you have brought me the fifty millions?”
“Let us be serious, sir—”
“Yes, let us be serious, Mr. Ben Omar; my friend Tregomain is not one of those who will consent to lose time in useless pleasantries. That is so, Tregomain?”
Never had the bargeman a more serious countenance, a more composed demeanour; and when he enveloped his nasal appendage in the folds of his flag—we mean handkerchief—never had he produced more magisterial trumpetings.
“Mr. Ben Omar, I am afraid there has been some misunderstanding between us. It is better it should end, or no good will come of this. You know who I am, and I know who you are—”
“A notary.”
“A notary, who is also the messenger of the deceased Kamylk Pasha, whom my family have been expecting for the last twenty years.”
“You will excuse me, Mr. Antifer, but in admitting that that is so I may say that I was not allowed to come sooner.”
“And why?”
“Because it is only a fortnight ago, that by the opening of the will, I ascertained under what conditions your father had received this letter.”
“Ah, the letter with the double K! We return to that, Mr. Ben Omar?”
“Yes, and my only idea in coming to St. Malo was to put myself in communication with you.”
“That is the only object of your journey?”
“The only one.”
During this exchange of question and answer Saouk remained impassible, and did not seem to understand a word that was said. He played his game so naturally that Tregomain, who was quietly watching him, saw nothing suspicious in his behaviour.
“Then, Mr. Ben Omar,” said Antifer. “I have for you the most profound respect, and as you know, I would not say an unkind word to you—”
Really this was sublime—what about “rascal,” “mummy,” “crocodile,” etc. etc.?
“But,” he continued, “I cannot help observing that you just lied—”
“Sir!”
“Yes, lied like a steward’s mate, when you asserted that your journey had no other object than to know what was in my letter!”
“I swear—” said the notary, lifting his hand.
“Keep your hand down, old Omar!” said Antifer, waking up in spite of his good resolutions. “I know perfectly well why you have come—”
“Believe me—”
“And on whose behalf you have come—”
“Nobody, I assure you—”
“So—on behalf of the deceased Kamylk Pasha—”
“He died ten years ago.”
“Never mind. It is in execution of his last wishes that you are here to-day with Pierre Servan Malo, son of Thomas Antifer, and your orders are not to demand the letter in question but to give him certain figures—”
“Certain figures?”
“Yes, the figures of a longitude he requires for the completion of a latitude Kamylk Pasha gave twenty years ago to his good father.”
“Well hit!” said Tregomain, tranquilly shaking his handkerchief as if he were signalling to the semaphores on the coast.
But the so-called clerk remained impassible, although he knew now that Antifer quite understood the position.
“And you, Mr. Ben Omar, have changed your errand, and have been trying to steal my latitude.”
“Steal?”
“Yes, steal! And probably to make use of it in a way that only I ought to do—”
“Mr. Antifer,” replied Omar, much disconcerted, “believe me, as soon as you give me this letter I will give you the figures—”
“Then you admit that you have them?”
The notary was fairly caught. Practised as he was at evasion, he saw that his adversary had him at his mercy, and that the best thing for him to do was to submit, as had been agreed the night before between him and Saouk. And now Antifer said—
“Come, play fairly, Mr. Ben Omar! You have been long enough on that tack—try another.”
“I will, he replied.
He opened his portfolio, and drew from it