“No,” said Lestrange. “I want to do this business myself. There is no hurry about it, but I would like to do it myself. You know, Kearney, all about my children and how they lived here.”
“Yes, sir,” said Kearney. “I’ve heard it from Bowers.”
“They lived here and grew up together,” went on Lestrange, “lived here in the open and in the woods the happy life that people knew before cities were built. I do not know, but I some day shall know, what fatality carried them out to sea; but I do know that shortly before it occurred they began to build that house. Why?”
Kearney, who knew the tropics better than Lestrange, had an answer on his tongue, pat, the sensible answer that maybe a storm had destroyed their first house, but he said nothing, wishing to keep clear of the subject of the children as much as possible, and Lestrange went on:
“Well, it is just my fancy, but it has come to me that they built it unconsciously, instinctively knowing that I was coming, knowing that death was approaching them, leaving it unfinished for me to finish—to complete for them—”
Kearney, distinctly uncomfortable at the turn the talk was taking, still remained mute. From what Bowers had said, and from his own observation, he knew that Lestrange was sane on every point but this. Instinct told him, or hinted to him, that craziness covered with sanity in this fashion might be a worse proposition if it burst loose than the open and general sort of craziness—like that of old Sam Fisher, with whom he had sailed years ago, a man clean cracked, yet harmless and able to do his duty. He had no fear of violence from Lestrange, but visions of the poor gentleman “dashing into the lagoon,” if crossed, made him hold his tongue.
Just at that moment the bird that Dick had been stalking rose in the air and passed over their heads and lit on the roof edge of the house. The child came running after it and, standing beneath, held up his hand.
“Koko!” cried Dick.
But the bird, evidently disturbed and puzzled by the newcomers, resisted all blandishments and after a moment of indecision rose into the air and passed away across the trees.
Lestrange did not notice, he had risen and walked down to the lagoon edge, where the dinghies were moored, the old battered dinghy of the Northumberland and the dinghy of the Ranatonga.