Well, I've brought
you here, where there is cash to be got--and a big lot, to a moral," he
added through his set teeth.
Silence fell. Each of them was staring into a different corner of the
room. Suddenly, with a slight stamp of his foot, Mr. Jones made for the
door. Ricardo caught him up outside.
"Put an arm through mine, sir," he begged him gently but firmly. "No use
giving the game away. An invalid may well come out for a breath of fresh
air after the sun's gone down a bit. That's it, sir. But where do you
want to go? Why did you come out, sir?"
Mr Jones stopped short.
"I hardly know myself," he confessed in a hollow mutter, staring
intently at the Number One bungalow. "It's quite irrational," he
declared in a still lower tone.
"Better go in, sir," suggested Ricardo. "What's that? Those screens
weren't down before. He's spying from behind them now, I bet--the
dodging, artful, plotting beast!"
"Why not go over there and see if we can't get to the bottom of this
game?" was the unexpected proposal uttered by Mr. Jones. "He will have
to talk to us."
Ricardo repressed a start of dismay, but for a moment could not speak.
He only pressed the governor's hand to his side instinctively.
"No, sir. What could you say? Do you expect to get to the bottom of his
lies? How could you make him talk? It isn't time yet to come to grips
with that gent.
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