"So it's you again," said Warren, and slapped the scimitar against his leg.
Woodcock recognised the voice. He glanced from Warren to Morgan.
"Listen!" he said, clearing his throat. "Listen! Don't fly off the handle now. I want you to unnastand something… "
This looked inexplicably like retreat. As startled by Woodcock's appearance as he had evidently been by theirs, Morgan nevertheless cut in before Warren could speak again. i
"Well?" he demanded, and assumed by instinct an ominous tone. "Well?"
The pale smile fluttered on Woodcock's face. "What I wantcha to unnastand, old man," he said, writhing his shoulders again and speaking very rapidly, "is that I wasn't responsible for you being stuck in that brig, even if you think I was; honest to God I wasn't. Look, I'm not mad at you, even if you've hurt me so bad I'll maybe have to go hi the hospital. That's what you've done — but you can see I 'in not mad, can't you, old man? Maybe it was right for you lo lake a sock at me — from what you thought, I mean. I know how it is when you get mad. A guy can't help himself. But when I told you — you know, what I did tell you— it was absolutely in good faith… "
There was something so utterly suspicious and guilty-seeming about the man that even the Bermondsey Terror, who had evidently no idea what this was all about, took a step forward.
"'Ere!" he said. "Oo's this?"
"Come up here, Mr. Woodcock," said Morgan quietly, lie jabbed his elbow into Warren's ribs to keep him quiet. "You mean that you really didn't see that film stolen out of ('urt Warren's cabin, after all?"
"I did! I swear I did, old man!"