Part 27 (1/2)
It is needless to place on record the formula of David's denial. It was forcible, and served its purpose--that should suffice.
”Under ordinary conditions she would 'ave pa.s.sed the island about the 31st?” continued Bulmer.
”Yes. Confound it, 'aven't I bin cablin' there every two days for a fortnight or more? B'lieve me or not, d.i.c.key, it cut me to the 'eart to keep you in the dark about Iris. But I begun it, like an ijjit, an'
kep' on with it.”
”To sweeten me on account of the new s.h.i.+ps, I s'pose?”
”Yes, that's it. No more lyin' for me. I'm sick of it.”
”For the same reason you wanted that letter published?”
”Well--yes. There! You see I'm talkin' straight.”
”So am I. If--if Iris is alive, the partners.h.i.+p goes on. If--she's dead, it doesn't.”
”D'ye mean it?”
”I always mean wot I say.”
The click of an indicator on the desk showed that Verity's private telephone had been switched on from the general office. By sheer force of routine, David picked up a receiver and placed it to his ear. The sub-editor of the newspaper whose representative had not been gone five minutes asked if he was speaking to Mr. Verity.
”Yes,” said David, ”wot's up now?” and he motioned to Bulmer to use a second receiver.
”A cablegram from Pernambuco states specifically that the captain and crew of the _Andromeda_ fought their way across the island of Fernando Noronha, rescued Dom De Sylva, seized a steam launch, attacked and captured the German steams.h.i.+p _Unser Fritz_, and landed the insurgent leader at Maceio. The message goes on to say that the captain's name is c.o.ke, and that he is accompanied by his daughter. . . . Eh? What did you say? . . . Are you there?”
”Yes, I'm 'ere, or I think I am,” said David with a desperate calmness.
”Is that all?”
”All for the present.”
”It doesn't say that c.o.ke is a ravin', tearin', 'owlin' lunatic, does it?”
”No. Is that your view?”
Bulmer's hand gripped David's wrist. Their eyes met.
”I was thinkin' that the chap who writes these penny novelette wires might 'ave rounded up his yarn in good shape,” said Verity aloud.
”But there is not the slightest doubt that something of the kind has occurred,” said the voice.
”It's a put-up job!” roared David. ”Them bloomin' Portygees 'ave sunk my s.h.i.+p, an' they're whackin' in their flam now so as to score first blow. A year-old baby 'ud see that if 'is father was a lawyer.”
The sub-editor laughed.
”Well, I'll ring you up again when the next message comes through,” he said.
But to Bulmer, David said savagely:
”Wot's bitten c.o.ke? 'E must 'ave gone stark, starin' mad.”