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Updated: May 23, 2025
They had seated themselves at opposite sides of the table, and from an inside pocket Philip produced a small bundle of papers. From these he drew forth a map, which he smoothed out under his hands. "Yes, there are possibilities and more, Greggy," he said. "I didn't ask you up here to help me fight air and moonshine. And I've promised you a fight.
It was about the first matter that I brought up after I had shaken hands with Brokaw." Philip's face was set and white as he stood in the middle of the room looking at Gregson. "And what do you think was his reply, Greggy? He looked at me for a moment, a peculiar twitching around the corners of his mouth, and then said, 'Don't allow a trivial matter like that to worry you, Philip.
He ceased his restless movement upon his companion's interruption, and for a moment or two gazed at Philip in blank silence. "Well," he said, at last, "have you got anything to say?" "Nothing," said Philip. "It's beyond me, Greggy. For Heaven's sake give me an explanation!" There was nothing womanish in the hard lines of Gregson's face now. He spoke with the suggestion of a sneer.
That's only a small part of what this road means, Greggy. Two years ago you remember I asked you to join me in the adventure I came up seeking opportunity. I didn't dream then " Whittemore paused, and a flash of his old smile passed over his face. "I didn't dream that fate had decreed me to stir up what I'm going to tell you about, Greggy.
"Do you remember what started the revolution down in Honduras the second week after we struck Puerto Barrios, Greggy? It was a girl, wasn't it?" "Yes, and she wasn't half pretty at that." "It was less than a girl," went on Philip. "Scene: the palm plaza at Ceiba.
It seemed, at first, as though a gold-mine had walked up and laid itself down at my feet, and I wondered how there could be so many silly fools in this world of ours. Take a look at that map, Greggy. What do you see?" Gregson had listened like one under a spell. It was one of his careless boasts that situations could not faze him, that he was immune to outward betrayals of sensation.
"Not a difference, but a little better view," corrected the artist. "Now, if we could only find the other girl, what a mess you'd be in, Greggy! By George, but this is beginning to have its humorous as well as its tragic side. I'd give a thousand dollars to have this other golden-haired beauty appear upon the scene!" "I'll give a thousand if you produce her," retorted Gregson.
"And your nerve," chuckled Whittemore, crushing the other's hand. "That was when I made up my mind you were the nerviest man alive, Greggy. Did you ever learn what became of Donna Isobel?" "She appeared twice in Burke's, once as the 'Goddess of the Southern Republics' and again as 'The Girl of Valencia. She married that reprobate of a Carabobo planter, and I believe they're happy."
He followed MacDougall to the door, speaking to him in a low voice, and then turned to Gregson. The artist had seated himself at one side of the small office table, and Philip sat down opposite him, holding out his hand to him again. "What is the matter, Greggy?" "This is not a time for long explanations," said the artist, still holding back his hand. "They can come later, Phil.
Whittemore wiped his face. The lines settled deeper about his mouth. "Greggy, a week after I received this letter two warehouses were burned on the same night at Blind Indian Lake. They were three hundred yards apart. There is absolutely no doubt that it was incendiarism." He waited in silence, but Gregson still sat watching him in silence. "That was the beginning three months ago.
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