“Two seventy-four,” said the purser. “I say, Mr. Anderson, if I were you I’d let the matter drop.”
“I know you would, dear old thing,” said Timothy, shaking him warmly by the hand, “and if I were you I should let it drop too. But, as I am me—274, I think you said?”
“I hope you’re not going to make any trouble, Mr. Anderson,” said the alarmed purser. “We’ve done our best to make you comfortable on the voyage.”
“And I did my best to pay for my ticket, so we’re quits,” and with a wave of his hand Timothy strode out of the cabin, dodged down past the steward carrying up the luggage to the next deck, and walked swiftly along the carpeted corridor till he found a little number-plate bearing the figures “274.” He knocked at the cabin door, and gruff voice said, “Come in!”
Chelwyn, the red-haired man, was in his shirt sleeves, fastening his collar. Brown was sitting on the edge of his bunk, smoking a cigarette, and Chelwyn, who had seen Timothy reflected in the mirror as he came in, was first to recognise him.
“Hullo, Mr. Anderson, do you want anything?” he asked politely. “Sorry you’ve had such bad luck—what the devil are you doing?”
Timothy had shut the door and slipped the bolt.
“Yes, I want something,” he said. “I want four hundred pounds.”
“You want——”
“Listen. I thought you were playing straight, you fellows, or I wouldn’t have played with you. I’m willing to take a chance, for that’s my motto in life, dear lads, but there isn’t a chance to take when you’re playing with crooks.”