Jealousy there was in another quarter--crude, rampant,
undignified jealousy. Captain von Heumann would twirl his
mustaches into twin spires, shoot his white cuffs over his rings,
and stare at me insolently through his rimless eyeglasses; we
ought to have consoled each other, but we never exchanged a
syllable. The captain had a murderous scar across one of his
cheeks, a present from Heidelberg, and I used to think how he
must long to have Raffles there to serve the same. It was not as
though von Heumann never had his innings. Raffles let him go in
several times a day, for the malicious pleasure of bowling him
out as he was "getting set"; those were his words when I taxed
him disingenuously with obnoxious conduct towards a German on a
German boat.
"You'll make yourself disliked on board!"
"By von Heumann merely."
"But is that wise when he's the man we've got to diddle?"
"The wisest thing I ever did. To have chummed up with him would
have been fatal--the common dodge."
I was consoled, encouraged, almost content. I had feared Raffles
was neglecting things, and I told him so in a burst. Here we
were near Gibraltar, and not a word since the Solent. He shook
his head with a smile.
"Plenty of time, Bunny, plenty of time. We can do nothing before
we get to Genoa, and that won't be till Sunday night.
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