"
Pritchard, too, rose to his feet. He passed his arm through
Tavernake's.
"Young man," he remarked, "there are not many in this country
whom I can trust. You're one of them. There's a sort of
solidity about you that I rather admire. You are not likely to
break out and do silly things. Do you care for adventures?"
"I detest them," Tavernake answered, "especially the sort I
tumbled into the other night."
Pritchard laughed softly. They had left the room now and were
walking along the open space at the end of the restaurant,
leading to the main exit.
"That's the difference between us," he declared thoughtfully.
"Now adventures to me are the salt of my life. I hang about here
and watch these few respectable-looking men and women, and there
doesn't seem to be much in it to an outsider, but, gee whiz!
there's sometimes things underneath which you fellows don't
tumble to. A man asks another in there to have a drink. They
make a cheerful appointment to meet for lunch, to motor to
Brighton. It all sounds so harmless, and yet there are the seeds
of a conspiracy already sown. They hate me here, but they know
very well that wherever they went I should be around. I suppose
some day they'll get rid of me."
"More bunkum!" Tavernake muttered.
They stood in front of the door and passed through into the
courtyard. On their right, the interior of the smaller
restaurant was shielded from view by a lattice-work, covered with
flowers and shrubs.
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