The Commissioner flushed slightly as he shook hands.
"Quite, thanks, very much. Er—narrow escape Mr. Hammer had, by Jove!"
"Quite so, sir. Missed the jugular by a matter of 'airbreadths, the doctor said. Prowidence is a werry mysterious thing, sir, as the old gent said when the 'ousemaid saw a mouse."
"We might show Mr. Smith that reliquary, John," smiled Sara Helmuth, and her hand stole quite shamelessly over the arm of the deck-chair to Hammer's.
The Daphne lay anchored off Melindi. The commissioner's launch lay at the ladder, its crew of two spruce policemen chatting in Kiswahili with the Arabs above, while the oily ground-swell lifted the yacht at her anchor.
It was two weeks since Hammer had left the jungle behind for ever, as he devoutly hoped, and with the commissioner's visit the last weight had been lifted from his mind.
Not only had he been entirely absolved from any complicity in Harcourt's death, but Nairobi had been graciously pleased to overlook entirely the death of Dr. Krausz, and to waive all claims to the treasure in hand—after the cathedral at Mombasa had been presented with the relics.
Hammer had little use for relics, but he had been very careful to say nothing about the reliquaries. Of these, the finest was that containing the reputed hand of St. Thomas—indeed, Commissioner Smith declared it, rather vaguely, to be "perfectly ripping—top hole, don't you know, in such things!"
His judgement proved ultimately to be entirely correct, while the records, historical and otherwise, contained in the cases, were declared by Sara Helmuth to be worth a good round sum to any library in Europe.
As Hammer was not particularly imbued with a love for art, he sold the three smaller reliquaries to Solomon; and also agreed to carry that individual back to Port Said on the yacht.