Bude paced the cabin in haggard anxiety. ‘Least said, soonest mended,’ he muttered.
‘Well, I don’t want your confidence,’ said Logan, hurt.
‘My dear fellow,’ said Bude affectionately, ‘you
are likely to know soon enough. In the meantime, please accept this.’
He opened a strong box, which appeared to contain jewellery, and offered Logan a ring. Between two diamonds of the finest water it contained a bizarre muddy coloured pearl. ‘Never let that leave your finger,’ said Bude. ‘Your life may hang on it.’
‘It is a pretty talisman,’ said Logan, placing the jewel on the little finger of his right hand. ‘A token of some friendly chief, I suppose, at Cagayan—what do you call it?’
‘Let us put it at that,’ answered Bude; ‘I must take other precautions.’
It seemed to Logan that these consisted in making similar presents to the officers and crew, all of whom were Englishmen. Te-iki-pa displaced his nose-ring and inserted his pearl in the orifice previously occupied by that ornament. A little chain of the pearls was hung on the padlock of the huge packing-case, which was the special care of Te-iki-pa.
‘Luckily I had the yacht’s painting altered before leaving England,’ said Bude. ‘I’ll sail her under Spanish colours, and perhaps they won’t spot her. Any way, with the pearls—lucky I bought a lot—we ought to be safe enough. But if any one of the competitors has gone for specimens of the Berbalangs, I fear, I sadly fear, the consequences.’ His face clouded; he fell into a reverie.
Logan made no reply, but puffed rings of cigarette smoke into the still blue air. There was method in Bude’s apparent madness, but Logan suspected that there was madness in his method.