Tom Tiddler's Island, стр. 47

“Like salt in soup—you never think of it until it’s missing,” Colin suggested. “Doesn’t worry me, though. Never was much of a hand at putting bright thoughts on paper. Can’t see, myself, what you find to say in all these letters you write. Hardly decent to be so free with the ink-gusher on a wedding-trip, take my word for it. Gives friends the impression you’re bored stiff, I should fear.”

He glanced at her, slightly perturbed-by his own suggestion.

“I say, darling, you aren’t bored, are you? Honest?”

Jean shook her head to reassure him.

“Not a bit of it. Really and really, Colin. And now I must fly and change. Don’t keep me waiting for dinner. I’m simply famishing.”

She hurried into the house. Colin, after another glance at his watch, decided that he had still time to smoke the best part of a cigarette. He had just opened his case when the motorboat rounded the point, and Colin was surprised to find that it carried someone in addition to Dinnet.

“Wonder who this can be?” he reflected, and walked back into the house for a pair of glasses.

When he emerged again, the motor-boat was coming on towards the skerry. Colin put up his binoculars and took a long look at the tiny craft. Dinnet’s companion was a stranger: a middle-sized, heavily-built man. As the boat drew nearer, Colin could see him clearly: clean-shaven, square-faced, with something in his appearance that suggested imperturbable self-reliance. Colin had an inclination to go down to the jetty and meet the boat; but a final glance at his watch assured him that he had no time to spare for conversation just then; and he could hardly escape at a moment’s notice if he once became involved in talk. He slipped the binoculars back into their case, Returned to the house, and went upstairs. After all, Dinnet would give him any information about the man, later on. There was no particular hurry. Still, the arrival of a fresh inhabitant of Ruffa seemed peculiar, considering the restricted housing on the island. And quite obviously this man had come to stay. He could hardly expect Dinnet to take him to the mainland again that night.

During dinner, Colin’s curiosity led him to broach the subject to Dinnet’s slight though obvious confusion.

“Brought a passenger with you, I saw, Dinnet?”

“Yes, sir. He was waiting at Stornadale, sir.”

“Friend of yours, I suppose,” Colin said indifferently, “or does he belong to Heather Lodge?”

“No, sir. He has Mr. Craigmore’s permission to stay on Ruff a for a while, sir.”

“Oh, indeed!” Colin was faintly resentful. It seemed hardly handsome of Craigmore to dump a visitor on himself and Jean, especially without so much as “By-your-leave.”

“He’s staying here, I suppose? He’d hardly get a room at the hotel here on the spur of the moment.”

Dinnet smiled in polite recognition of the jest.

“As you say, sir, he would find some little difficulty. But it iss all right, sir. He will not be troubling you and Mrs. Trent at all. He has come up for an open-air holiday, and he means to camp out for a week or so while he iss here. He has got a little tent and some stores with him.”

“Oh, that’s all right, then,” Colin conceded, with a certain relief which he failed to conceal.

“Of course he could not have stayed here,” Dinnet explained, as though stating a fact so obvious as to make its formulation supererogatory. “Mr. Craigmore had lent Wester Voe to you, sir, and he would not think of sending anyone here.”

“Quite so,” Colin agreed, feeling a certain reproof behind this defence of Dinnet’s employer.

“Mr. Craigmore telegraphed to me, sir, about the matter. I found the wire at’ the post office when I went there for the letters. I will show you it after dinner, sir.”

“Oh, don’t bother,” said Colin, half-ashamed of himself at having betrayed his feelings. “No business of mine, Dinnet.”

“I wonder who he is,” Jean mused when Dinnet left the room. “Another recruit to the inner circle of Ruffa society. Does he look much catch, Colin?”

“I only got a glimpse of him in the boat. Dressed for the pact, all right—heather-mixture plus-fours and trimmings to match. Got one of these heavy, square-jawed physogs you see on the American captains of industry. Or he might be a middle-weight boxer on his vacation. Un-placeable sort of type. Might be anybody, in fact. Anybody who’s quite able to look after himself, at any rate.”

He paused, evidently rather pleased with his effort at description. Jean’s ironical laugh disabused him.

“You’d make a fortune as a descriptive writer, Colin. Wonderful!”

“Well, he is like that.”

The re-entry of Dinnet set them talking on other subjects until dinner ended. Colin rose and opened the door for Jean; but as he was about to follow, Dinnet detained him with a gesture.

“This iss the telegram, sir.”

Something in the factotum’s manner showed Colin that he had been separated from Jean for some purpose which had nothing to do with the message itself. He could not help admiring Dinnet’s resource in the matter.

“Let’s see it, then, Dinnet,” he said, pushing the door to and turning back into the room.

Dinnet held out the familiar form and Colin read:

Dinnet Wester Voe

Pick up Mr. Wenlock at Stornadale and take him to Ruffa he will explain matters himself Craigmore.

“Handed in at some London office,” Colin noted. “Mr. Craigmore isn’t in London just now, Dinnet?”

“No, sir, that iss quite true. Still, sir, I think the message iss quite in order.”

“No business of mine, anyhow, Dinnet. Not’s far’s I can see.”

“Mr. Wenlock, sir, would be glad if you could spare him a few minutes just now. Alone, sir. That was why I took the liberty of stopping you at the door, sir.”

“Ah, indeed. Quite right, Dinnet.’ What does this man want with me? I never heard of him till this minute.”

“I think he would rather explain, himself, sir. If you will wait for a moment I will send him to you.”

“Very