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He told me he was
going to look over some business papers till I came."
The idea of the son of the poet, the rescuer of the most forlorn damsel
of modern times, the man of violence, gentleness and generosity, sitting
up to his neck in ship's accounts amused me. "I am sure he would not
have minded," I said, smiling. But the girl's stare was sombre, her thin
white face seemed pathetically careworn.
"I can hardly believe yet," she murmured anxiously.
"It's quite real. Never fear," I said encouragingly, but had to change
my tone at once. "You had better go down that way a little," I directed
her abruptly.
* * * * *
I had seen Fyne come striding out of the hotel door. The intelligent
girl, without staying to ask questions, walked away from me quietly down
one street while I hurried on to meet Fyne coming up the other at his
efficient pedestrian gait. My object was to stop him getting as far as
the corner. He must have been thinking too hard to be aware of his
surroundings. I put myself in his way, and he nearly walked into me.
"Hallo!" I said.


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