‘Ah, that terrible fog! I must confess, the word makes me nervous, for the Doctor’s sake. A fog, you know, means damp—that constant bugbear to us old East Indians.’
‘But the voyage is half over. Here we are, almost, in Alderney harbour.’
‘And here, I am afraid, my husband and I ought to bid you all good-night. Captain Ozanne has offered to signal for a boat. We should not delay the Princess five minutes. Really and truly, Lord Rex, I think the wisest course will be for Doctor Thorne to land.’
‘Doctor Thorne to land? Another mysterious disappearance! And shall you, Mrs. Thorne, immediately follow suit, as you did at Luc?’
‘Of course I shall! The whole Luc comedy will be repeated.’ And here Linda’s voice grew intentionally clear and resonant. ‘The Luc comedy, with the original cast and decorations, for everybody’s amusement.’
It was a wantonly cruel speech—Dinah Arbuthnot stood within hearing! Yet Linda Thorne’s conscience was void of offence. She belonged by temperament to the irresponsible class of mortals who can never resist the temptation of histrionic effect. For what, save histrionic effect, had she cajoled the skipper, the old Doctor, Gaston, into this freak of midnight disembarkation? And when once a woman’s tongue and actions are ruled by the eternal desire for smart dramatic point, it must be clear that other women’s sufferings will pay the price of her success.
Dinah’s heart froze. She divined, without going through any distinct process of reason, what announcement she was likely to hear next.
‘If the Luc scene is to be repeated, I conclude you, too, are going to desert us?’
Lord Rex Basire addressed himself to Gaston Arbuthnot.
‘Well, it has been borne in upon one during the last fortnight that it was a duty to look up old Grimsby,’ began Gaston. ‘And this——’