That was true, I knew. Pilon continued to answer me truthfully and with apparent frankness. But I was not satisfied; his eyes had a sly, mocking look to them as if he were really aware of the purpose of my visit and enjoyed this verbal sparring. I distrusted him.
Suddenly he broke in vehemently on one of my queries, "Why all these questions? Am I suspected of subversive activities?"
I said nothing, scrutinizing him closely. I felt he was acting, his anger a mere pretense to force me to the point of my visit. I stalled for time to think, refilling my cup from the pot on the Primus.
"May I see your credentials, sir?"
I froze in the act of stirring my coffee. Was Pilon just being nasty? Or had the timidity of my questioning given me away?
I couldn't afford to be trapped. Not only would my trip to the Congo be fruitless, but worse, Armstrong would be hauled on the carpet for his part in it and severely disciplined. I myself would probably face ugly disloyalty charges. A bold bluff was my only way out.
I laughed good-naturedly. "After having seen Mr. Disney I didn't expect to have to carry my papers around with me. They're a down-right nuisance to carry around in this outfit I'm wearing." I gestured to the khaki shorts and short-sleeved shirt I had on.
He laughed, a forced, hollow laugh. He was uncertain of his ground.
"Of course," I went on, "if you wish, we could go to Leopoldville and...."
"No, that won't be necessary. I'm sorry. I lost my temper. Living alone in this jungle wears a person's nerves a little thin."