His tone said plainly: “And whatever it may be, we are not likely to believe it.”
“Yes, Mr. Cade, what were you doing?” said Lord Caterham, with lively interest.
“Well,” said Anthony regretfully. “I’m afraid it’s rather a long story.”
He drew out his cigarette case.
“May I?”
Lord Caterham nodded, and Anthony lit a cigarette, and braced himself for the ordeal.
He was aware, none better, of the peril in which he stood. In the short space of twenty-four hours, he had become embroiled in two separate crimes. His actions in connection with the first would not bear looking into for a second. After deliberately disposing of one body, and so defeating the aims of justice, he had arrived upon the scene of the second crime at the exact moment when it was being committed. For a young man looking for trouble, he could hardly have done better.
“South America,” thought Anthony to himself, “simply isn’t in it with this!”
He had already decided upon his course of action. He was going to tell the truth—with one trifling alteration, and one grave suppression.
“The story begins,” said Anthony, “about three weeks ago—in Bulawayo. Mr. Lomax, of course, knows where that is—outpost of the Empire—‘What do we know of England who only England know?’ all that sort of thing. I was conversing with a friend of mine, a Mr. James McGrath—”