“We shook hands, and no more was said at the time. But one thing was definitely certain. Whatever the girl was going to Rangoon for, the gain was Rangoon’s. She was an absolute fizzer—looked you straight in the face with the bluest of eyes that seemed to have a permanent smile lurking in them. And then, suddenly, I noticed her left hand. On the third finger was a diamond ring. It couldn’t be Jack she was engaged to, and I wondered idly who the lucky man was. Because he was lucky—infernally lucky.
“I think,” continued the Ordinary Man, pulling thoughtfully at his pipe, “that I first began to scent complications at Malta. We landed there for a few hours, and the idea was that Miss Felsted, Jack, and I should explore Valetta. Now, I don’t quite know how, but we got separated. I spent a pleasant two hours with a naval pal in the Union Club, while Jack and the girl apparently went up by the narrow-gauge railway to Citta Vecchia, in the centre of the island. And since no one in the full possession of their senses would go on that line for fun, I wondered. I wondered still more when they came back to the ship. Jack was far too open and above-board to be very skilful at hiding his feelings. And something had happened that day.
“Of course, it was no concern of mine. Jack’s affairs were entirely his own; so were the girl’s. But a ship is a dangerous place sometimes—it affords unequalled and unending opportunities for what in those days were known as flirtations, and to-day, I believe, are known as ‘pashes.’ And to get monkeying round with another fellow’s fiancée—well, it leads to complications generally. However, as I said, it was no concern of mine, until it suddenly became so the evening before we reached Port Said.
“I was talking to Jack on deck just before turning in. We were strolling up and down—the sea like a mill-pond, and almost dazzling with its phosphorescence.
“ ‘Is Miss Felsted going out to get married?’ I asked him casually.
“ ‘Yes,’ he answered abruptly. ‘She’s engaged to a man called Morrison.’
“ ‘Morrison,’ I repeated, stopping and staring at him. ‘Not Rupert Morrison, by any chance?’
“ ‘Yes. Rupert is his name. Do you know him?’
“I’d pulled myself together by this time, and we resumed our stroll.
“ ‘I know Rupert Morrison quite well,’ I answered. ‘As distance goes in that country, Jack, he’s a near neighbour of ours’; and I heard him catch his breath a little quickly.