Although his intimacy with Stephen Maturin did not allow him to ask questions that might be judged impertinent, it was of such a rare kind that he could ask for money without the least hesitation. 'Have you any money, Stephen?' he said, the Marine having vanished in the trees. 'How I hope you have. I shall have to borrow the Marine's guinea from you, and a great deal more besides, if his message is what I dearly trust. My half-pay is not due until the month after next, and we are living on credit.'
'Money, is it?' said Stephen, who had been thinking about lemurs. There were lemurs in Madagascar: might there not be lemurs on Réunion? Lemurs concealed among the forests and the mountains of the interior? 'Money? Oh, yes, I have money galore.' He felt in his pockets. 'The question is, where is it?' He felt again, patted his bosom, and brought out a couple of greasy two pound notes on a country bank. 'That is not it,' he muttered, going through his pockets again. 'Yet I was sure—was it in my other coat? did I perhaps leave it
in London?—you are growing old, Maturin—ah, you dog, there you are!' he cried triumphantly, returning to the first pocket and drawing forth a neat roll, tied with tape. 'There. I had confused it with my lancet-case. It was Mrs Broad of the Grapes that did it up, finding it in a Bank of England wrapper that I had—that I had neglected. A most ingenious way of carrying money, calculated to deceive the pick-pocket. I hope it will suffice.'
'How much is it?' asked Jack.
'Sixty or seventy pound, I dare say.'
'But, Stephen, the top note is a fifty, and so is the next. I do not believe you ever counted them.'
'Well, never mind, never mind,' said Stephen testily. 'I meant a hundred and sixty. Indeed, I said as much, only you did not attend.'
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