The refusal was due to the death of the drawer before presentment.
"Damn it! I must play a fine game now!" he glowered. "Anstruther
I must obey in all! Once back in India with rank, however, I can
force old Ram Lal to pay these drafts. He dare not resist--there's
the rope for him!
"And I must find a fellow to spy out the situation in Jersey.
I certainly dare not linger here!" He be-took himself to an old
haunt in Tower Hamlets, where the first stars of the "swell mob"
were wont to linger, a haunt where he had once taken refuge in his
changeling days, years before.
A glance at a man seated enjoying a good cigar at a table caused
his heart to leap up in joy. "Jack Blunt--of all men! By God! this
is luck!" he cried. When the happy Alan Hawke tapped the smoker
smartly on the shoulder he first laid a finger on his own lip and
then hastily said: "Get a private room, Jack, I want you at once.
I've a special bit of business in your line." Major Alan Hawke,
Temporary Rank, unattached, hastily bade the boni-face serve the
best supper available for two. "Mind you, no poison in the wine!"
he sharply said.
"We've the best vintages of London Docks," grinned the happy host,
as he sped away and left the two scoundrels alone.
"What are you doing now, Jack?" queried Hawke.
"Nothing," sullenly replied the middle-aged star of the swell mob.
"My eyes! you are in great form," he admiringly commented.
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