Had he--I asked myself with
interest--resisted his wife to the very last minute and then bolted up
the road from the last conclusive argument, as though it had been a
loaded gun suddenly produced? I opened the carriage door, and a vigorous
porter shoved him in from behind just as the end of the rustic platform
went gliding swiftly from under his feet. He was very much out of
breath, and I waited with some curiosity for the moment he would recover
his power of speech. That moment came. He said "Good morning" with a
slight gasp, remained very still for another minute and then pulled out
of his pocket the travelling chessboard, and holding it in his hand,
directed at me a glance of inquiry.
"Yes. Certainly," I said, very much disappointed.
CHAPTER SEVEN--ON THE PAVEMENT
Fyne was not willing to talk; but as I had been already let into the
secret, the fair-minded little man recognized that I had some right to
information if I insisted on it. And I did insist, after the third game.
We were yet some way from the end of our journey.
"Oh, if you want to know," was his somewhat impatient opening.
Pages:
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310