Part 16 (1/2)
Glen bade Roper take the handkerchief from my mouth, and when that was done his creased face smiled at me over the lantern.
”About the _Royal Fortune?_” he said smoothly.
Peter Tortue nodded, and absently cleaned the blade of his knife upon the thighs of his breeches. There was no reply for me to make, and I waited.
”You were over to St. Mary's to-day?”
”Yes.”
”What did you do there?”
”I bought a pair of silk stockings and some linen.”
George Glen sn.i.g.g.e.red like a man that leaves off a serious conversation to laugh politely at a bad joke.
”But it's true,” I cried.
”Did you speak of the _Royal Fortune?_”
”No,” and, as luck would have it, I had not--not even to the Rev. Mr.
Milray.
”Not to a living soul?”
”No.”
”Did you go up to Star Castle?”
”No.”
”Did you speak to Captain Hathaway?”
”No.”
”'There's poor old George,' you said. 'Old George Glen,' says you, 'what was quartermaster with Cap'n Roberts on the _Royal_----'”
”No,” I cried.
”Did you mention Peter Tortue?” said the Frenchman.
”No. Would you be sitting here if I had? There would be a company of soldiers scouring the island for you.”
”That's reasonable,” said Tortue, and the rest echoed his words. In a little there was silence. Tortue set to work again with his knife. It flashed backwards and forwards, red with the candle light as though it ran blood. It shone in my eyes and dazzled me, and somehow, there came back to me a recollection of that hot night in Clutterbuck's rooms when everything had glittered with an intolerable brightness, and d.i.c.k Parmiter had been set upon the table to tell his story. I was vaguely wondering what they were all doing at this moment in London, Clutterbuck, Macfarlane, and the rest, when the questions began again.
”You came back from St. Mary's to New Grimsby?”
”Yes.”
”Did you tell Parmiter?”