Part 73

“Yes,” I said, “that’s all right. But I can’t help thinking where should we be if we hadn’t just by accident got Capern’s Perfect Filament. Because, you know it was an accident—my buying up that.”

He crumpled up his nose into an expression of impatient distaste at my unreasonableness.

“And after all, the meeting’s in June, and you haven’t begun to get the quap! After all, we’ve still got to load our gun.”

“They start on Toosday.”

“Have they got the brig?”

“They’ve got a brig.”

“Gordon-Nasmyth!” I doubted.

“Safe as a bank,” he said. “More I see of that man the more I like him. All I wish is we’d got a steamer instead of a sailing ship.”

“And,” I went on, “you seem to overlook what used to weigh with us a bit. This canadium side of the business and the Capern chance has rushed you off your legs. After all—it’s stealing, and in its way an international outrage. They’ve got two gunboats on the coast.”

I jumped up and went and stared out at the fog.

“And, by Jove, it’s about our only chance! I didn’t dream.”

I turned on him. “I’ve been up in the air,” I said.

“Heaven knows where I haven’t been. And here’s our only chance—and you give it to that adventurous lunatic to play in his own way—in a brig!”

“Well, you had a voice—”

“I wish I’d been in this before. We ought to have run out a steamer to Lagos or one of those West Coast places and done it from there. Fancy a brig in the channel at this time of year, if it blows southwest!”

“I dessay you’d have shoved it, George. Still you know, George.... I believe in him.”

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I believe in him, too. In a way. Still—”

We took up a telegram that was lying on his desk and opened it. His face became a livid yellow. He put the flimsy paper down with a slow, reluctant movement and took off his glasses.

“George,” he said, “the luck’s against us.”

“What?”

He grimaced with his mouth—in the queerest way at the telegram.

“That.”

I took it up and read:

“Motor smash compound fracture of the leg gordon nasmyth what price mordet now”

For a moment neither of us spoke.

“That’s all right,” I said at last.

“Eh?” said my uncle.

“I’m going. I’ll get that quap or bust.”