“You told me to go,” said Tony. “I wanted to help”—which showed he hadn’t!
“But you didn’t—you didn’t—you didn’t!” said the Spook.
Tony ran his hand through his hair. “This is quite right as far as it goes,” he said, “but I want to ask a few questions to make sure. May I?”
“Certainly,” said Doc. and I.
He turned to the board (it was always amusing to me to notice how men had to have something material to question, and how they never turned to the Doc. or me, but always to the board. Hence, I suppose, the necessity for “idols” in the old days).
“Have you gone ba——” He checked himself and rubbed his chin. “No,” he went on, “I won’t ask that.—Where are you now?”
He had already, without knowing it, answered his own question, but he must be given time to forget it.
“Ah, Tony,” said Louise, “you were a dear! I did love so your hair.”
This was camouflage, but it pleased Tony.
“Where are you now?” Tony repeated, thinking, no doubt, of soft hands on his hair.