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He pointed. "I'll fetch up with her in no time." But Amber could see nothing in the least resembling the catboat, and said so with decision. "She's there, all right," insisted Quain. "'Tain't my fault if you're blind. Here, hold this, will you, while I find me a pole of some sort."
A little awed, it may be, and certainly more than a little depressed, they left the hollow by the beaten way, the Portuguese Antone leading with a pick and spade, Amber and Quain following side by side, Doggott with his valise bringing up the rear. Beyond the hollow the tracks diverged toward the bay shore; and presently they came to the scene of the tragedy.
About him were many footprints, some recently made presumably by his companion. The latter, however, kept himself discreetly invisible. At a word from Quain the Portuguese paused and began to dig. Quain, Amber, and Doggott went on a little distance, then, by mutual consent, halted within sight of Antone. "I wouldn't leave him if I were you," Amber told Quain, nodding back at the Portuguese.
"Just my beastly luck!" he added gratuitously. "It wouldn't've been me if ! How many'd you pot, Davy?" "Only two," said Amber, lowering his weapon, extracting the spent shells, and reloading. "Only two!" The information roused in Quain a demon of sarcasm. Fumbling in his various pockets for a shell-extractor, he grunted his disgust. "Here, lend us your thingumbob; I've lost mine.
Nevertheless, he said enough to render Quain thoughtful.... "You're set on this thing, I suppose?" he asked some time after Amber had concluded. "Set upon it, dear man? I've no choice. I must go I promised." "Of course. That's you, all over. Personally, I think it'll turn out a fool's errand.
"If you've fretted about me, I've been crazy about you what time I've had to think." Quain deferred to his insistence. "It was simple enough and damned hard," he explained. "I caught the Echo by the skin of my teeth, the skimmy almost sinking under me. She was hard and fast aground, but I managed to get the motor going and backed her off.
For the second time in this author's novels incest plays a rôle. This time it is real. Quain is indeed the half-brother of the lady who desires to marry him. He is as vile and virulent a villain as any who stalks through the pages of Ann Ker, Eliza Bromley, or Mrs. Radcliffe. A Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde motive is sounded.
'Because if it is, master left word that anyone was to go to Dr. Christopher's, 22, Argyll Street. 'You will be sure to tell your master that I came, said Mr. Knight frigidly, departing. At 22, Argyll Street he was informed that Dr. Christopher had likewise been called away, and had left a recommendation that urgent cases, if any, should apply to Dr. Quain Short, 15, Bury Street.
For all his affection for and confidence in his friend, there were things he might not tell Quain; wherefore he couched his narrative in the fewest possible words and was miserly of detail. Of the coming of the babu and his going Amber was fairly free to speak; he suppressed little if any of that episode.
George sought and found solace in his books by selling his Kirke, his Quain and his Stone to Mr. Schoole of the Charing Cross Road; his microscope he temporarily lodged with Mr. Maughan in the Strand; to the science of bridge he applied himself with a skill that served to supply his petty needs. Notwithstanding, his career at St. Peter's was of average merit.
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