“It is time you had your food,” he said.
Long Jim took up the violin and drew the bow across it. There was a chorus of execrations. Craig snatched it from him. He suddenly turned his back upon them all. He had played before as though to amuse himself. He played now with the complete, almost passionate absorption of the artist. His head was uplifted, his eyes half closed. He was no longer the menial, the fugitive from justice. He was playing himself into another world, playing amidst a silence which, considering his audience, was amazing. They crouched across the table and watched him. Long Jim stood like a figure of stone. The interruption which came was from outside.
“More of these damned tourists,” Long Jim muttered. “Women, too!”
Craig had stopped playing. He turned his head slowly. Quest was in the act of dismounting from his horse. By his side was the Professor; just behind, Lenora and Laura. Long Jim greeted them with rough cordiality.
“Say, what are you folks looking for?” he demanded.
Quest pointed to Craig.
“We want that man,” he announced. “This is Inspector French from New York. I am Sanford Quest.”
There was a tense silence. Craig covered his face with his hands, then suddenly looked up.
“I won’t come,” he cried fiercely. “You’ve hounded me all round the world. I am innocent. I won’t come.”
Quest shrugged his shoulders. He took a step forward, but Long Jim, as though by accident, sauntered in the way.