“I looked in the direction he was pointing. It was an ordinary native shop where one could buy ornaments and musical instruments and trash like that—but of Morrison I could see no sign.
“ ‘I don’t see him,’ I said; ‘and anyway there is no reason why he shouldn’t be in the shop if he wants to.’
“ ‘But he suddenly vanished,’ persisted Jack, ‘as if he didn’t want to be seen.’ He walked on with me slowly. ‘I don’t like that man, Hugh; I hate the swine. And it’s not because of Molly, either.’
“He shut up at that, and I did not pursue the topic. It struck me that we should have quite enough of Morrison in the next few weeks.”
The Ordinary Man paused and lit a cigarette; then he smiled a little grimly.
“I don’t know what I expected,” he continued thoughtfully: “I certainly never said a word to Jack as to my vague suspicions. But all the time during the first fortnight, while he was settling down into the job, I had the feeling that there was danger in the air. And then, when nothing happened, my misgivings began to go.
“After all, I said to myself, what could happen, anyway? And perhaps I had misjudged Rupert Morrison. On the two or three occasions that we met him he seemed perfectly normal; and though, somewhat naturally, he was not over effusive to Jack, that was hardly to be wondered at.
“And then one morning Jack came to breakfast looking as if he hadn’t slept very well. I glanced at him curiously, but made no allusion to his appearance.
“ ‘Did you hear that music all through the night?’ he said irritably, half-way through the meal. ‘Some infernal native playing a pipe or something just outside my window.’
“ ‘Why didn’t you shout at him to stop?’ I asked.