Free Short Stories by W. Somerset Maugham

wait till I've wrapped this package.'
    With perfect assurance he ran his scissors across the stuff, folded it, made it into a parcel, and handed it to the dark-skinned customer.
    'Pay at the desk, please.'
    Then, smiling, with bright eyes, he turned to Bateman.
    'How did you show up here? Gee, I am delighted to see you. Sit down, old man. Make yourself at home.'
    'We can't talk here. Come along to my hotel. I suppose you can get away?'
    This he added with some apprehension.
    'Of course I can get away. We're not so business-like as all that in Tahiti.' He called out to a Chinese who was standing behind the opposite counter. 'Ah-Ling, when the boss comes tell him a friend of mine's just arrived from America and I've gone out to have a dram with him.'
    'All-light,' said the Chinese, with a grin.
    Edward slipped on a coat and, putting on his hat, accompanied Bateman out of the store. Bateman attempted to put the matter facetiously.
    'I didn't expect to find you selling three and a half yards of rotten cotton to a greasy nigger,' he laughed.
    'Braunschmidt fired me, you know, and I thought that would do as well as anything else.'
    Edward's candour seemed to Bateman very surprising, but he thought it indiscreet to pursue the subject.
    'I guess you won't make a fortune where you are,' he answered, somewhat dryly.
    'I guess not. But I earn enough to keep body and soul together, and I'm quite satisfied with that.'
    'You wouldn't have been two years ago.'
    'We grow wiser as we grow older,' retorted Edward, gaily.
    Bateman took a glance at him. Edward was dressed in a suit of shabby white ducks, none too clean, and a large straw hat of native make. He was thinner than he had been, deeply burned by the sun, and he was certainly better-looking than ever. But there was something in his appearance that disconcerted Bateman. He walked with a new jauntiness; there was a carelessness in his demeanour, a gaiety about nothing in particular, which Bateman could not precisely blame, but which exceedingly puzzled him.
    'I'm blest if I can see what he's got to be so darned cheerful about,' he said to himself.
    They arrived at the hotel and sat on the terrace. A Chinese boy brought them cocktails. Edward was most anxious to hear all the news of Chicago and bombarded his friend with eager questions. His interest was natural and sincere. But the odd thing was that it seemed equally divided among a multitude of subjects. He was as eager to know how Bate-man's father was as what Isabel was doing. He talked of her without a shade of embarrassment, but she might just as well have been his sister as his promised wife; and before Bateman had done analysing the exact meaning of Edward's remarks he found that the conversation had drifted to his own work and the buildings his father had lately erected. He was determined to bring the conversation back to Isabel and was looking for the occasion when he saw Edward wave his hand cordially. A man was advancing towards them on the terrace, but Bateman's back was turned to him and he could not see him.
    'Come and sit down,' said Edward gaily.
    The new-comer approached. He was a very tall, thin man, in white ducks, with a fine head of curly white hair. His face was thin too, long, with a large, hooked nose and a beautiful, expressive mouth.
    'This is my old friend Bateman Hunter. I've told you about him,' said Edward, his constant smile breaking on his lips.
    'I'm pleased to meet you, Mr Hunter. I used to know your father.'
    The stranger held out his hand and took the young man's in a strong, friendly grasp. It was not till then that Edward mentioned the other's name.
    'Mr Arnold Jackson.'
    Bateman turned white and he felt his hands grow cold. This was the forger, the convict, this was Isabel's uncle. He did not know what to say. He tried to conceal his confusion. Arnold Jackson looked at him with twinkling eyes.
    'I daresay my name is familiar to you.'
    Bateman did not know whether to say yes or no, and what made it