"Well, wot d'ye think of it?"
"Did you send the ship to Fernando Noronha?"
It is needless to place on record the formula of David's denial. It
was forcible, and served its purpose--that should suffice.
"Under ordinary conditions she would 'ave passed the island about the
31st?" continued Bulmer.
"Yes. Confound it, 'aven't I bin cablin' there every two days for a
fortnight or more? B'lieve me or not, Dickey, it cut me to the 'eart
to keep you in the dark about Iris. But I begun it, like an ijjit, an'
kep' on with it."
"To sweeten me on account of the new ships, I s'pose?"
"Yes, that's it. No more lyin' for me. I'm sick of it."
"For the same reason you wanted that letter published?"
"Well--yes. There! You see I'm talkin' straight."
"So am I. If--if Iris is alive, the partnership goes on. If--she's
dead, it doesn't."
"D'ye mean it?"
"I always mean wot I say."
The click of an indicator on the desk showed that Verity's private
telephone had been switched on from the general office. By sheer force
of routine, David picked up a receiver and placed it to his ear. The
sub-editor of the newspaper whose representative had not been gone five
minutes asked if he was speaking to Mr. Verity.
"Yes," said David, "wot's up now?" and he motioned to Bulmer to use a
second receiver.
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