"But I have lost my suit case," wailed the damp, unhappy Clifford—he was drying quite nicely in the sunshine—"and the schooner which brought me here has sailed away. How can I go? You are a white woman, and should take pity on a fellow countryman. I am wet and hungry, and the chills are running all over me. I am sure the spear was poisoned, and that I shall die here like a dog and be damned."
"Name of a Dog!" swore Madame Gilbert. "Do you suppose I care how you die or where you go afterwards? You are not worth the price of good pit coal, so I take leave to doubt the damning. How did you expect to get away when you had your black carcase dumped upon our Island? By your own dirty law you are no better than a trespasser."
"I expected that Lord—that Mr. Willatopy would carry me away in his yawl when he had learned my news of his inheritance. It is all true that I spoke to him. They told me in Thursday Island that he had a yawl and was the boldest sailor in the Straits."
"Willatopy, leave us," said Madame. "I would be alone with the little stranger. If you should see his suit case on the sand you might pitch it down. He steams prettily, but would be the better for a dry change. If he dies before I have ragged him to the bones, I shall be for ever desolated. I am pleased with you, Willatopy. You are the worthy son of the Great White Chief, your father. If you could look in at my camp, and send the steward down with breakfast—with breakfast for two; he might die too soon if I don't feed him—I shall be infinitely obliged. Be quick, my dear, for I am powerful hungry. And ask Marie for my trench coat," she shouted after the departing Willie. "I came away to bathe in private, and did not expect strangers. Specially when they were not invited," added she pointedly.
"It is lucky for you, Mr. John Clifford, officer and gentleman, that I did not go swimming to-day in the fashion of Joy and Cry, just to see how it felt to be quite unhampered. I did think of trying. You would not then have had me run a step to your assistance. And now I am not going to speak another word until my hunger is appeased. You have my permission to be seated. What ever possessed you, man, to enter the Tropics in those funereal clothes? This is not St. Mary Axe. If your suit case is really lost there will be for you no wear except a loin cloth and a sun-stripped skin. You have no idea until you feel it in the buff how the sun bites. And this is our island winter. In the summer—we shall not take you off, my poor friend, and no schooner comes inside our bar—in the summer you will fry, and your miserable thin white hide will frizzle off your wasted flesh. And now be silent, if you can, until I have eaten." The wretched victim had not spoken a word for the past five minutes, but that was nothing to Madame. I have already said that in action she was as swift and ruthless as she was babblesome in speech.
They had breakfast together seated on the sand, and the cabin steward of the yacht waited upon them. He showed no visible sign of surprise at the little stranger's appearance, though his soul must have been ravaged with curiosity. Even yacht stewards are human.
"Now," said Madame, when the steward had gone, and she had deeply inhaled her first beloved after-breakfast cigarette. "Now, if it is possible for a lawyer, tell me something of the bare unvarnished truth. Your story of Willatopy's Lordship is only one degree less probable than your own reputed status of officer and gentleman. You are John Clifford, managing clerk to some many-partnered firm in St. Mary Axe, London, E.C. So far, the Court is with you. Get on with the rest."
"I was an officer, for three months before the Armistice. A second lieutenant of Royal Artillery."
"Mon Dieu!" said Madame politely. "I knew the English Army was hard put to it, but was it as bad as all that? Did you see any service?"