"Poor Max," said Brockford with a sigh, more to himself than to me.
Realising that it would be of little use our remaining where we were, we returned to Montezma's office, Mr. Brockford accompanying us. We had been absent something like half an hour, and were hoping that we should find Max awaiting us. To our dismay, however, this did not prove to be the case. The clerks had seen nothing of him. Once more we sat down to wait. The suspense, for me at least, was growing unbearable.
"What can have become of him?" I cried at last. "Do you think he has heard of my arrival, and is purposely keeping out of my way?"
"I should consider it very improbable," he answered. "He certainly had no idea of such a thing this morning, and, as I take it, you did not travel under your own name he would scarcely have penetrated the mystery of your alias."
In the interval, clerks had been sent out in all directions, in the hope that one of them might find him. They invariably returned, however, with the same reply: he was not at the place where they had searched. It was nearly six o'clock before we were confirmed in our belief that there was something more in his absence than met the eye. Our minds, mine especially, were filled with the gloomiest forebodings. At last, just as Brockford was beginning to wonder whether Max could have been taken ill, and have chartered a boat and returned to the Island before his time, a small nigger made his appearance in the outer office. He carried in his hand a letter, which was addressed to Señor de Montezma.
"It is from Señor Mortimer himself!" he cried. "Now we shall know the reason of his strange behaviour."
With that he opened the envelope, and, spreading the letter out upon the table, began to read it. It was not a very long one; but, such as it was, it was sufficient to cause him not only great astonishment, but also a considerable amount of pain. Tears trickled down his cheeks before he had finished, and when he laid it down it was with an audible sob.
"MY GENEROUS FRIEND AND BENEFACTOR (it began),
"How will you feel towards me, when I tell you that it is necessary I should leave Rio at once, perhaps never to return to it, I dare not think. A circumstance, so unexpected that I can scarcely realise it yet, renders it imperative that I should seek a hiding-place elsewhere and without a moment's delay. I can only ask you to believe, if you do not know it already, that the secret which forces me to take this step is not one of which I need be in any way ashamed. Were it so I should never have been your friend. That I should have treated you like this, after all you have done for me, cuts me to the heart. Forgive me, if you can, and believe that while I live, I shall remain,