‘Well, roughly looked through,’ said Curtis. ‘Just a glance here and there to catch what they meant.’
‘Which I must say was quite unnecessary,’ said Walpole haughtily.
‘It was a sort of journal of yours,’ blundered out Curtis, who had a most unhappy knack of committing himself, ‘that they opened first, and they saw an entry with Kilgobbin Castle at the top of it, and the date last July.’
‘There was nothing political in that, I’m sure,’ said Walpole.
‘No, not exactly, but a trifle rebellious, all the same; the words, “We this evening learned a Fenian song, ‘The time to begin,’ and rather suspect it is time to leave off; the Greek better-looking than ever, and more dangerous.”’
Curtis’s last words were drowned in the laugh that now shook the table; indeed, except Walpole and Nina herself, they actually roared with laughter, which burst out afresh, as Curtis, in his innocence, said, ‘We could not make out about the Greek, but we hoped we’d find out later on.’
‘And I fervently trust you did,’ said Kilgobbin.
‘I’m afraid not; there was something about somebody called Joe, that the Greek wouldn’t have him, or disliked him, or snubbed him—indeed, I forget the words.’
‘You are quite right, sir, to distrust your memory,’ said Walpole; ‘it has betrayed you most egregiously already.’
‘On the contrary,’ burst in Kilgobbin, ‘I am delighted with this proof of the captain’s acuteness; tell us something more, Curtis.’