"Git! Vamos! Waddle! Get back and cook the dinner. Which
way did they go, then?"
Pedro extended a huge, hairy forearm to show the direction, and went off
on his bandy legs. Advancing a few steps, Ricardo was just in time to
see, above some bushes, two white helmets moving side by side in the
clearing. They disappeared. Now that he had managed to keep Pedro from
informing the governor that there was a woman on the island, he could
indulge in speculation as to the movements of these people. His attitude
towards Mr. Jones had undergone a spiritual change, of which he himself
was not yet fully aware.
That morning, before tiffin, after his escape from the Heyst bungalow,
completed in such an inspiring way by the recovery of the slipper,
Ricardo had made his way to their allotted house, reeling as he ran,
his head in a whirl. He was wildly excited by visions of inconceivable
promise. He waited to compose himself before he dared to meet the
governor. On entering the room, he found Mr. Jones sitting on the camp
bedstead like a tailor on his board, cross-legged, his long back against
the wall.
"I say, sir. You aren't going to tell me you are bored?"
"Bored! No! Where the devil have you been all this time?"
"Observing--watching--nosing around. What else? I knew you had company.
Have you talked freely, sir?"
"Yes, I have," muttered Mr.
Pages:
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394