Mr. Sinnett, without furnishing the explanation, stopped short, for Mr. Tridge had just entered the room. Conspicuously bandaged was Mr. Tridge’s right hand, and a huge asterisk of sticking-plaster decorated his left cheek.
“’Ad a bit of a haccident,” he returned, evasively, when Mr. Sinnett asked a surprised question. “Cut meself.”
“How?” further inquired Mr. Sinnett.
“With a knife,” said Mr. Tridge.
“Whatever was you a-doing of, sir?” asked Mr. Lock.
“What the devil’s that got to do with you?” roared Mr. Tridge. “You shut up and mind your own business!”
“Sorry, sir,” humbly apologized Mr. Lock. “By the way, sir, there was a dark gent inquiring for you.”
“I know,” said Mr. Tridge, curtly. “I met ’im!”
And now the door opened, and the visage of Mr. Clark stared round it. Vengeful and gloating was the stout ferryman’s face, and he nodded with malevolent satisfaction at Mr. Tridge.
“Ah, ’e told me ’e ’ad!” he cried. “Good luck to ’im!”