"It pains me to confess it, Robert," I said, "but the last time you
were here I'm afraid I wasn't quite straight with you."
"I had an idea you were keeping something up your sleeve," he
replied. "It takes a lot of practice to make a really convincing
liar."
I nodded a little sadly. "Yes," I said, "honesty was always a
handicap of mine--especially in the Service."
A sudden hiss from the kettle attracted my attention, and, stepping
forward, I picked up the teapot.
"You're going to hear the real truth now, Bobby," I added, "and don't
you dare to open your mouth again until I've got it off my chest."
Long and complicated as my story was, the whole thing had burned
itself into my mind so vividly that I was in no danger of forgetting
the smallest detail. I enjoyed, too, the additional advantage of
having rehearsed it the previous night, and when once I started I
found myself going ahead with amazing fluency. Without attempting to
skip anything, I told him exactly what had occurred from the fateful
moment when Christine and her uncle had arrived on board the
_Neptune_ in Manaos Harbour. He already knew, of course, about my
interview with Mr. Drayton and my adventure in the dock, but all the
rest of it was, so to speak, fresh ground, and I did not think there
was much chance of his finding my narrative either tedious or
redundant.
To say that this confidence was justified would be putting it at its
mildest. Munching his food and sipping his tea, he followed every
word with an expression of absorbed interest that never varied from
start to finish. Once or twice he interrupted me to ask a question,
but otherwise he sat there in profound silence, his blue eyes fixed
steadily on mine.
Bit by bit I proceeded to unravel the whole tangled skein of my
adventures, until I at last reached the point when the clang of the
garden gate had announced his own arrival upon the scene.
"I don't want to appear emotional," I concluded, "but I must admit
the sight of your ugly mug filled me with the most inexpressible
joy." I paused to moisten my lips, which were as dry as parchment.
"That's as far as we've got up to the present, Robert," I added, "and
now for heaven's sake let's have a drink."
"Well, the first thing's easy," remarked Bobby, as he accepted the
tumbler which I offered him. "Here's to Christine, and if she's half
as nice as she sounds you're the luckiest beggar that ever trod this
planet."
We drained the toast in silence, and then, putting down his glass, he
hoisted himself out of his chair and walked across to the window.
"That's that," he observed grimly, "and----"
I saw him pull up with curious abruptness, and stand there perfectly
still staring out into the garden.
"What's the matter?" I demanded.
He looked back over his shoulder with a queer smile on his lips.
"I don't know if you're expecting any visitors," he began.
Before he could conclude his sentence I was standing alongside of him.
Crossing the lawn and coming directly towards the house were two
figures. One was an enormously stout, broad-shouldered man, whom I
recognised immediately as the landlord of the Gunner's Arms; the
other was a police sergeant in uniform.
Bobby was the first to break the silence. "We seem to have finished
the story just in time," he said drily.
Without making any reply, I unlatched the window and threw it open.
The two men came up to the verandah side by side and halted exactly
in front of us.
For a moment nobody spoke; then the landlord, who was breathing
heavily, stepped forward and touched his cap.
"Beg pardon, Mr. Dryden," he said huskily, "but this is Sergeant
'Umphries of Torrington. He wants to have a word with you."
"Why, certainly," I replied. "Come inside, both of you."
I moved back, and, mounting the verandah, they tramped in heavily
over the threshold.
"I expect you know Commander Dean," I added, "at all events by sight."
There was an exchange of salutes, followed once more by an
embarrassing silence.
"Well," I said encouragingly, "what is it? Anything I can do for
you?"