"I'm extremely sorry you made me do that," he said almost apologetically, "but you really must not shout—especially about unpleasant things. If I—if I behaved disgracefully to the lady, I am sorry."
All this in a voice that did not reach beyond his adversary. Parker heard the low music of it and scratched his head. Morelle's voice had changed.
Later, when Ronnie was preparing to depart, Parker ventured to offer felicitations.
"I never saw a man go through it like that fellow did—and they think something of him as a fighter in these parts."
"It was nothing," said Ronnie hastily, "a trick—I learned it in New Caledonia from a Japanese who was in the same prison."
Parker blinked.
"Yes, sir," he said, and then Ronnie laughed.
"What on earth am I talking about? I think we will go home, Parker."
"Yes, sir," said Parker, breathing hard. He had never seen his master drunk before, and drunk he undoubtedly was, for not only had he fought, but he was civil. Parker hoped he would keep drunk.
In his pocket Ronnie found a gold cigarette case, a pocketbook, a watch and chain, a small billcase and a gold pencil. In his trousers pocket were a few silver coins and some keys. He found them literally; the seat of the car was strewn with his discoveries. Whose were they? The cigarette case was inscribed: "To Ronnie from Beryl." Ronnie—Beryl? Of course they were his own properties. He chuckled gleefully at his amusing lapse.