Tom Tiddler's Island, стр. 48

Dinnet vanished discreetly through the service-door. Colin, his half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, stared round the familiar dining-room mechanically. Who could this unexpected visitor be? And why should he apply at the earliest possible moment to Colin, of all people, who had never even heard his name before. Another of these mysteries which seemed to hang over Ruffa like mist over a marsh. Well, this one could be cleared up without much waiting; that was one good point.

The door opened. Dinnet’s voice announced: “Mr. Wenlock, sir.” Mr. Wenlock stepped into the room with an air of reserved assurance. The door closed behind him. Colin was face to face with the latest arrival.

“Good evening, Mr. Trent,” said the newcomer briskly as he advanced into the room. “You’re surprised to see me, I expect. I apologise for interrupting you; but it was essential that I should see you at once.”

He paused, evidently intending that Colin should speak next.

“Yes?”

Colin did not propose to give himself away in the slightest until he knew more about his visitor.

“I’ll put my cards on the table at once, Mr. Trent. I’ve come to ask you some questions, and, if possible, to prevent you asking awkward questions about me. You’ve seen that telegram? I asked Dinnet to show it to you to establish my bona fides and save trouble.”

Colin looked at the face before him, with its humorous creases about the corners of the mouth. A good mixer, this fellow, he inferred. A rather likeable cove, in fact. If faces were fortunes, the bloke would be quite well-to-do, so long as beauty wasn’t demanded as a sine qua non. But Colin didn’t see why he should be cross-questioned merely because his would-be examiner could show a good set of teeth when he smiled. Come to think of it, this gent seemed to be a bit of a rusher in the way he took consent for granted. Colin wasn’t going to be taken in by that sort of bluff.

“I’ve seen a telegram, certainly. But, if you don’t mind my pointing it out, anybody can send a wire in someone else’s name. Not necessarily evidence, if you see what I mean.” Mr. Wenlock’s smile broadened.

“You’re cautious, Mr. Trent. Quite right, in the circumstances. In fact, I’m glad of it.”

He felt in his pocket, produced an official card, and handed it across to Colin.

“Detective-Inspector Wenlock,” Colin read aloud, in a tone which betrayed a mingling of surprise and relief.

So Scotland Yard was taking a hand in the affairs of Ruffa! Northfleet’s hints about Governments came back to his mind. Evidently there must be something pretty big behind the business, after all. Anyhow, Colin reflected with satisfaction, one knew exactly how one stood with the police. If they wanted assistance, they were entitled to get it.

“Wasn’t over-keen to be cross-examined by total and unauthorised strangers,” he explained; “but this is a different pair of shoes, naturally. If you’re from Scotland Yard, it’s all right.”

Detective-Inspector Wenlock made an expressive grimace to indicate that the situation was not yet straightened out entirely.

“You’re frank, Mr. Trent. So am I, so I’ll say this. I’ve no official footing up here. This place is north of the Border and outside English jurisdiction, you see. Of course I got in touch with the local constabulary before coming here. They know all about me. But, for all that, I’m practically a private person like yourself, so far as authority goes. If I ask questions, I’ve got to rely on your courtesy for my answers.”

Detective-Inspector Wenlock had not attained his grade without acquiring a very sound judgment of human character. By throwing himself on Colin’s generosity he did a very good stroke of business for himself.

“But why come to me at all?” Colin demanded. “I’m only a visitor here.”

“To prevent you asking awkward questions, just as I said. That was one reason. You see, Mr. Trent, except for yourself and your man Dinnet I’m here incognito. Or at least I hope so. If I hadn’t come straight to you, what would have happened? This place is about the size of a pocket-handkerchief and a new arrival can’t escape notice. There’s not much to talk about on an islet like this, I imagine. You and your friends would have begun to talk about me. I don’t want any more of that than can be helped. You can stop it to some extent if you like. Once people think they know all about a man, they take no notice of him. If you say you’ve met me and that I’m a geologist, you’ll be telling no lies. I am a bit of a geologist. It’s my hobby. And if people hear that, they’ll ask no more. Especially if you show you’re bored by the subject. Whereas, if they don’t know anything they’ll get inquisitive. Will you do that for me?”

“No harm in that’s far’s I can see,” Colin admitted. “But this island’s getting a bit overcrowded with nature-students. There’s an amateur bird-watcher on the premises already.”

Wenlock gave a deliberate nod.

“Yes, Mr. Northfleet. Dinnet told me about him. We know something about Mr. Northfleet.” Was Colin mistaken, or was there just the faintest sub-tinge of hostility in Wenlock’s tone in his reference to Northfleet? Colin could not be sure. Still, there was enough in it to give him a qualm. After all, what did he really know about Northfleet? Only what the man himself had told him, so far as recent times went. Was it possible that he, Colin Trent, had got hold of the wrong end of the stick in the affairs of Ruffa? Suppose that, under cover of all that wild yam he had told, Northfleet was really playing a game of his own, what then? “But what game?” Colin asked himself. And then, in a flash, he had another of his scintillant ideas. Suppose Northfleet was out to get the gold-maker’s secret—for himself. And then another name joined to Northfleet’s in his mind: Nipasgal! Northfleet himself