He was now, he perceived, sunk. The old man would be down on him roaring for all the grisly details, and he didn't know one tobacco ash from another, to cap it all, there were mysterious events on foot already. His father had not been at the pier to meet the Aquatic that morning. Instead there had appeared a certain Colonel Standish, whom he vaguely remembered having met somewhere before…
He glanced sideways at the colonel, who was fidget-, ing in the seat beside him, and wondered what ailed the man. Ordinarily the colonel must have been an easy and amiable sort; fleshy and port-wine-colored, with a puffing manner and clipped hair. But he had been acting very strangely. He shifted about. He rolled round a squinted brown eye, and removed it hastily. He had taken to thumping his fist on the steering-wheel, as though he had some sort of internal agony; and several times he accidentally thumped the button of the horn, which let out a squawk that made Donovan jump.
They had driven up from Southampton with a jovial old codger named Fell; and, like a nightmare, Donovan found himself being driven straight to Scotland Yard. There was dirty work here, somewhere. He had a horrible suspicion that his old man, energetic as always, was going to send him before some sort of tribunal for an examination. The thing became worse because not a word had been said to him about his father, or what was afoot, or—
"Damme, sir," said Colonel Standish, suddenly and energetically. "Damme, damme, damme, damme!"
"Eh?" said Donovan, "I beg your pardon?"
The colonel cleared his throat. His nostrils were working as though at a sudden resolve.
"Young fella," he said in a gruff voice. "Got to tell you. Only right I should. Eh?"
"Yes, sir?"
"It's about your father. Got to tell you what's in store for you, and warn you."
"Oh, my God," said Donovan inaudibly. He slouched down in his seat.