"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 more awkward was that both Jackson and Edward seemed to be amused. It was bad enough to have forced on him the acquaintance of the one man on the island he would rather have avoided, but worse to discern that he was being made a fool of. Perhaps, however, he had reached this conclusion too quickly, for Jackson, without a pause, added:
"I understand you're very friendly with the Longstaffes. Mary Longstaffe is my sister."
Now Bateman asked himself if Arnold Jackson could think him ignorant of the most terrible scandal that Chicago had ever known. But Jackson put his hand on Edward's shoulder.
"I can't sit down, Teddie," he said. "I'm busy. But you two boys had better come up and dine to-night."
"That'll be fine," said Edward.
"It's very kind of you, Mr Jackson," said Bateman, frigidly, "but I'm here for so short a time; my boat sails to-morrow, you know; I think if you'll forgive me, I won't come."
"Oh, nonsense. I'll give you a native dinner. My wife's a wonderful cook. Teddie will show you the way. Come early so as to see the sunset. I can give you both a shake-down if you like."
"Of course we'll come," said Edward. "There's always the devil of a row in the hotel on the night a boat arrives and we can have a good yarn up at the bungalow."
"I can't let you off, Mr Hunter," Jackson continued with the utmost cordiality. "I want to hear all about Chicago and Mary."
He nodded and walked away before Bateman could say another word.
"We don't take refusals in Tahiti," laughed Edward. "Besides, you'll get the best dinner on the island."
"What did he mean by saying his wife was a good cook? I happen to know his wife's in Geneva."
"That's a long way off for a wife, isn't it?" said Edward. "And it's a long time since he saw her. I guess it's another wife he's talking about."
For some time Bateman was silent. His face was set in grave lines. But looking up he caught the amused look in Edward's eyes, and he flushed darkly.
"Arnold Jackson is a despicable rogue," he said.
"I greatly fear he is," answered Edward, smiling.
"I don't see how any decent man can have anything to do with him."
"Perhaps I'm not a decent man."
"Do you see much of him, Edward?"
"Yes, quite a lot. He's adopted me as his nephew."
Bateman leaned forward and fixed Edward with his searching eyes.
"Do you like him?"
"Very much."
"But don't you know, doesn't everyone here know, that he's a forger and that he's been a convict? He ought to be hounded out of civilised society."
Edward watched a ring of smoke that floated from his cigar into the still, scented air.
"I suppose he is a pretty unmitigated rascal," he said at last. "And I can't flatter myself that any repentance for his misdeeds offers one an excuse for condoning them. He was a swindler and a hypocrite. You can't get away from it. I never met a more agreeable companion. He's taught me everything I know."
"What has he taught you?" cried Bateman in amazement.
"How to live."
Bateman broke into ironical laughter.
"A fine master. Is it owing to his lessons that you lost the chance of making a fortune and earn your living now by serving behind a counter in a ten cent store?"
"He has a wonderful personality," said Edward, smiling good-naturedly. "Perhaps you'll see what I mean to-night."
"I'm not going to dine with him if that's what you mean. Nothing would induce me to set foot within that man's house."
"Come to oblige me, Bateman. We've been friends for so many years, you won't refuse me a favour when I ask it."
Edward's tone had in it a quality new to Bateman. Its gentleness was singularly persuasive.
"If you put it like that, Edward, I'm bound to come," he smiled.
Bateman reflected, moreover, that it would be as well to learn what he could about Arnold Jackson. It was plain that he had a great ascendency over Edward, and if it was to be combated it was necessary to discover in what exactly it consisted. The more he talked with Edward the more conscious he became that a change had taken place in him. He had an instinct that it behooved him to walk warily, and he made up his mind not to broach the real purport of his visit till he saw his way more clearly. He began to talk of one thing and another, of his journey and what he had achieved by it, of politics in Chicago, of this common friend and that, of their days together at college.
At last Edward said he must get back to his work and proposed that he should fetch Bateman at five so that they could drive out together to Arnold Jackson's house.
"By the way, I rather thought you'd be living at this hotel," said Bateman, as he strolled out of the garden with Edward. "I understand it's the only decent one here."
"Not I," laughed Edward. "It's a deal too grand for me. I rent a room just outside the town. It's cheap and clean."
"If I remember right those weren't the points that seemed most important to you when you lived in Chicago."
"Chicago!"
"I don't know what you mean by that, Edward. It's the greatest city in the world."
"I know," said Edward.
Bateman glanced at him quickly, but his face was inscrutable.
"When are you coming back to it?"
"I often wonder," smiled Edward.
This answer, and the manner of it, staggered Bateman, but before he could ask for an explanation Edward waved to a half-caste who was driving a passing motor.
"Give us a ride down, Charlie," he said.
He nodded to Bateman, and ran after the machine that had pulled up a few yards in front. Bateman was left to piece together a mass of perplexing impressions.
Edward called for him in a rickety trap drawn by an old mare, and they drove along a road that ran by the sea. On each side of it were plantations, coconut and vanilla; and now and then they saw a great mango, its fruit yellow and red and purple among the massy green of the leaves; now and then they had a glimpse of the lagoon, smooth and blue, with here and there a tiny islet graceful with tall palms. Arnold Jackson's house stood on a little hill and only a path led to it, so they unharnessed the mare and tied her to a tree, leaving the trap by the side of the road. To Bateman it seemed a happy-go-lucky way of doing things. But when they went up to the house they were met by a tall, handsome native woman, no longer young, with whom Edward cordially shook hands. He introduced Bateman to her.