“What are you looking at me like that for, Flash?” Doyle asked in a shaky voice. “Surely you don’t think that I—”
“Oh, no!” Flash broke in. “You wouldn’t wish to harm me! Not you, Doyle!”
“Listen,” the technician pleaded nervously, “I don’t know what happened. But I can see you have the wrong slant on things. You think Rascomb and I deserted you?”
“That’s a mild way to put it.”
“We were sure you had drowned,” Doyle repeated. “When the boat upset you must have gone down like a ton of bricks. There was no sign of you anywhere. I wanted to wait but Rascomb was nasty about it. He said if we didn’t leave right away we never would get through the pass.”
“And you expect me to believe a tall story like that?”
“It’s the truth. You don’t think I’d have gone if I’d had even a faint hope you were still alive?”
“Doyle, you’re a very good actor, but not quite good enough to convince me. Next you’ll try to tell me you never saw Rascomb strike me over the head.”
“What?” demanded the technician incredulously. “Say that again!”
“You heard me. Rascomb stunned me with the oar after I accused him of being Albert Povy. I fell into the water and was carried to the opposite shore. That part you may not know.”