John came down and squatted at the foot of the steps, saying nothing. Stephen tied up the boat, but did not get out of it.
"A man's been here this morning—a policeman—with the sack ... he wanted to know if we knew anything about it.... Cook saw him first, and let out that it was ours—said we'd lent it to you—silly fool ... about three weeks back ... when I saw him it was too late to say anything else...." He stopped and looked up. Surely John was going to say something.
John looked steadily at him and said nothing.
"She said Mabel went round and asked you for it, and you said—what did you say, John?"
John looked out across the river and thought. Then he said in a far-away voice:
"I said I'd taken it out to pick up wood—and lost it. Overboard ... I had to say something."
"Hell!" Stephen hoped that this exclamation had an authentic note of perplexity and distress. He was conscious of neither, only of a singular clearness and contentment.
"Well, what are we going to do now?"
There was no answer.
"Margery's very bad this morning," he went on, with seeming irrelevance. "We're very worried. The doctor ..."