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"A regular one would smile at your modest showing," was Craig's comment. "I'm quite certain no man ever found it more difficult to persuade his wife to buy frocks, even when he went with her and expressed his anxiety to see her in particular colours."
You have seen Mr. Craig's collection?" "Frequently, sir." Bullard took a bundle of notes from his pocket. "I offer you ten pounds to guess correctly the value of the collection." "Six hundred thousand pounds, sir.... Thank you, sir." With supreme stolidity Caw presented the salver as a waiter might do for his tip. Though taken aback, the loser laughed. He took a long drink, and laughed again.
Craig's laugh might have been confession, it might have been mere amusement. "I want a wife that suits me," said he. "And I'll get her." It was Arkwright's turn to be amused. "There's one game you don't in the least understand," said he. "What game is that?" "The woman game." Craig shrugged contemptuously. "Marbles! Jacks!"
Captain Shirley, a man of sixty-two or three, bronzed and wiry, met us eagerly. "So this is Professor Kennedy; I'm glad to meet you, sir," he welcomed, clasping Craig's hand in both of his a fine figure as he stood erect in the light of the portecochere. "What's the news from Washington, Burke? Any clues?" "I can hardly tell," replied the secret service man. with assumed cheerfulness.
Craig's pedigree only that had the advantage of being Scotch, and not his 'bringing up'; for, except that he had a stronger burr in his accent, his speech differed little from that of the Loamshire people around him."
"Queer, but it seemed to me I heard some one," French muttered. "I was sure of it," Quest replied, shaking the curtains at the back of the door. They stood still for a moment and listened. The silence in the empty house was almost unnatural. Quest turned away with a shrug of the shoulders. "At any rate," he said, "Craig's dying thoughts must have been truthful. Come."
Quest watched him cross the street, glance furtively to the right and to the left, then enter the club. He turned back to the little wireless and his fingers worked as though inspired. "I am on Craig's track," he signalled. "Be brave." He waited for no reply, but opened the door and stealing softly out of the room, leaned over the banisters. His apartment was on the fourth story.
I think of that, and, by gosh, I fairly roar!" "Do you talk that way to convince yourself?" Craig's eyes were suddenly shrewd. "Yes," said he, "and to convince you, and a lot of other weak-minded people who believe all they hear. You'll find out some day that the world thinks with its ears and its mouth, my boy.
"Yes," replied Craig, holding the hand, and rudely not looking at her but at Arkwright. "You've interrupted us in a very interesting talk, Grant." Grant and Margaret exchanged smiles, Margaret disengaged her hand, and the two men went. As they were strolling down the drive, Grant said: "Well, what did you think of her?" "A nobody a nothing," was Craig's wholly unexpected response.
Somehow or other the word had gone around, as words do go in a ship's company, as to the literary labours they were engaged in, and as Jefferson Craig's name was one known to more people than Georgiana had the slightest notion of, there was cause enough for the attention given them.
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