“Not barefooted, were you, old fellow?” remarked Louis in a sympathetic tone. “That was tough.”
“Barefooted? Not much!” exclaimed The Engineer. “He was quite a nob. That’s why I made up to him; he was so much better dressed than I. And do you know, Herbert, I never heard a word of you from that time on until I struck one of your statues in the Royal Academy the other day. I never thought you’d turn out sculptor with medals and things. Thought you wanted more room to swing around in. This is something new, isn’t it?”
Herbert took his freshly lighted cigar from his mouth long enough to say, “About as new as your building dams. You were trying to get into the real-estate business when I bid you good-by in Sydney. Did it work?”
“No, I got into jail instead.”
Everybody stared.
“What was it all about?” asked Herbert, unperturbed.
“Stealing!”
“Stealing!” exclaimed Le Blanc.
“Yes. That was about it,” he answered. “Only this time I tried to bag a government and got locked up for my pains. One of your countrymen”—and he nodded toward me—“was mixed up in it. By the way”—and he rose from his chair—“you don’t mind my taking this candle, do you?—I’ve been looking at something in that cabinet over there all the evening and I can’t stand it any longer. I may be wrong, but they look awfully like it.”
He had reached the carved triptych, and was holding the flame of the candle within a few inches of a group of tiny figures—some of Lemois’ most precious carvings—one the figure of a man with a gun.