"Malice, my dear chap; pure, unadulterated malice and devilment; the rascal wouldn't be happy unless he were playing Old Nick upon someone or other." I daresay Jack was perfectly right.
We waited at Bremen Station, however, for the arrival of Strong's train, in case he should be in it, and—as it happened—we should have saved ourselves both time and vexation of spirit if we had gone on and left him.
Strong was in the train. He came out as bold as brass, and showed no fear or surprise when he met us upon the platform. He even wished us good-evening, and asked us how we came to be here and not on board the Thomas Wilcox, in the middle of the North Sea.
"Well, you're a darned cool hand, Strong, I must say!" said Jack. "What about the work of art, and the other things?"
"What work of art?" he asked, positively without a blush.
"Clutterbuck's picture—you know quite well what we mean," I said. "You stole it out of our cabin."
"I never went near your blamed cabin," he said; "you'd better prove what you say. You're too jolly fond of accusing innocent people, you two bounders. If I had you in a quiet place I'd make you swallow all those infernal lies about me that you invented on Hogland."
"Oh, that's your line is it, Strong?" said Jack "You're going to figure as the injured innocent, are you? All right, my man; you're safe here in Germany, but don't you show yourself in England."
"You cannot prove anything, curse you!" cried Strong, "and you know it."
"Very well; quite likely; at the same time, think twice before crossing the Channel; we may have a little evidence up our sleeve that you don't know of."