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That explains the cheque, but it doesn't explain why he hasn't written. . . . Of course, he hasn't had much time. . . ." The stoicism in Waring's composed face became eclipsed for a moment.
All the way home on that long journey from Cape Town, as the two half-brothers lounged on deck together in their canvas chairs, Granville Kelmscott was wholly at a loss to understand what seemed to him Guy Waring's unaccountable and almost incredible levity. The man's conduct didn't in the least resemble that of a person who is returning to give himself up on a charge of wilful murder.
"My gun?" he queried mildly. One of the police handed the gun to Waring. Their eyes met. "Why, hello, Pedro!" And Waring's voice expressed innocent surprise. "When did you enroll as a policeman?" Donovan was about to interrupt when the policeman spoke: "That is my business." "Which means Bill here has had you sworn in to-day. Knew you would like to get a crack at me, eh?
He sickened at the thought of being seen by Major Waring's side. His best suit and his hat were good enough, as far as they went, only he did not feel that he wore them he could not divine how it was with a proper air, an air of signal comfort.
"And you put it through! You knew it was crooked. And you call yourself a man! And you took a letter to Pat that called him out to be shot down by that coyote! Do you know that Pat's gun was loaded when I found it; that he didn't have a chance?" Waring's face grew suddenly old. He leaned back wearily. "I wonder just how you feel?" he said presently.
The assistant mopped his face with an immaculate handkerchief. The room was hot. "Bill," and Waring's voice was softly insulting, "you can't bluff worth a damn." Donovan's red face grew redder. "What are you driving at, anyway?" Quigley stirred and rose. The assistant got to his feet. "Just a minute," said Waring, gesturing to them to sit down. "Donovan's got something on his mind.
He said it was his duty to establish Georgie's identity, or something like that, and Georgie told him to get off at the next station and buy Waring's Magazine was that it, Georgie?" "How the deuce should I know?" "Well, some such magazine. Georgie said he'd find an article in it on the Railroad Kings and Princes of America, and that his picture, Georgie's, was among the very first!"
He rose and turned sideways that the other might take his gun. "You win the throw," he said. The Mexican jerked Waring's gun from the holster and cocked it. Then he whistled. From below came the faint clatter of hoofs. The rural seemed puzzled that his call should have been answered so promptly. He knew that his companions had gone for their horses, picketed some distance from the pocket.
Langmaid's a vestryman, you know, and they've only got him there because he's the best corporation lawyer in the city. He isn't exactly what you'd call orthodox. He never goes." "We are indebted to Mr. Langmaid for Mr. Hodder." This was one of Mr. Waring's rare remarks. Eleanor Goodrich caught her husband's eye, and smiled.
Bill then told him how he came to be among the prisoners, and had heard the American captain and his men talking together, and proposing to get the Frenchmen to rise with them to overpower the British crew. Captain Waring's countenance showed that he felt very much disposed to disbelieve what Bill had told him, or rather, to fancy that Bill was mistaken.
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