In Puckston's expression there was no fear, no wrath, no shrinking; only a curious twitch of the mouth which Martin could not identify.
"What did I do, then?" Puckston asked.
'Tm goin' to suggest" pursued H.M., turning back a page and tapping it, "that the same thing which happened to Simon Frew also happened to you."
Puckston shut his eyes.
"You saw the field gallop round the side of Black Hanger. Through the telescope they all seemed to be waving and smiling at you. You wondered who it could be for just like Frew. You turned round and raked your telescope along till you saw your enemy, George Fleet, a few seconds before be fell. Is that true?"
"Yes," said Puckston without opening his eyes.
"But you were looking at him sideways — a good distance sideways — instead of face on. That's how you came to see…"
"See what?"
"The pink flash. Just like open and shut, wasn't it?"
Were they coming at last, Martin wondered, to the explanation of that tantalizing obscurity which (Masters seemed to think) was connected with a wooden beach-chair? He, Martin Drake, had been pushed by a pair of hands. Or could he swear he had? The soft, gentle growl of H.M.'s voice went on.