“Yes,” said Daintree, grinning, “it was his. He was particularly anxious to know how I came by it. I didn’t tell him, of course. Couldn’t give Simcox away, you know. Then Pat began to cheek me. Asked if I’d fallen in love with the girl and what my wife would say when he told her. Said he carried the photo about with him and showed it to fellows just to watch them falling in love with her. It seems that nine men out of ten admired her greatly. He asked me if I didn’t think she was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen, and that I wasn’t the first man by any means who wanted her name and address. He grinned in a most offensive way and said that he never gave away that girl’s name to anyone; that I ought to know better than to go running after a nice, innocent little thing like that who wouldn’t know how to take care of herself. I wasn’t going to stand much of that sort of talk from Pat Singleton. I told him straight that if he didn’t tell me that girl’s name and where she lived I’d make things hot for him. I threatened to report the little game he’d had with the nurse and that if I did he’d be court-martialled. I don’t know whether a man could be court-martialled for cheeking a nurse, but the threat had a good effect on Pat. He really was a bit afraid of that woman. I don’t wonder, though it’s the first time I’ve ever known him afraid of anyone.”
Daintree paused and chuckled horribly.
“Well,” I said, “who was the girl?”
“Haven’t you tumbled to it yet?” said Daintree.
“No. Do I know her?”
“I can’t say you exactly know her,” said Daintree. “You know him. It was a photo of Pat himself dressed up as the Sleeping Beauty, or Fatima, or some such person in a pantomime they did down at the base last Christmas when he was there. The young devil carried the thing about with him so as to play off his silly spoof on every fellow he met. I must say he made a damned pretty girl.”
“Good Lord!” I said. “And how did Simcox take it?”
“Simcox hasn’t been told—yet,” said Daintree. “That’s just what my wife wants your advice about. You see it’s an awkward situation.”
“Very,” I said.
“If we tell him,” said Daintree, “he’ll probably try to kill Pat Singleton, and that would lead to a lot of trouble. On the other hand, if we don’t tell him he’ll spend the rest of his life roaming about the world looking for a girl who doesn’t exist, and never did. It seems a pity to let that happen.”