"You're not going, Errington?" said Mr. Stevens, as his guest rose.
"If you don't mind. I've a bit of a headache, and mean to turn in early."
"Sorry. Well, come up to-morrow, and we'll have a rubber. Good-night."
The headache was not feigned, but Errington's principal reason for leaving early was that he wished to think over the news he had just heard. The flying boat had been stolen, then! He could hardly explain to himself why he had said nothing of his discovery; unconsciously, no doubt, he felt that to speak would have opened up the matter of his lost friendship with Burroughs--a matter which he could not have discussed.
"What a fool I was not to bring it away!" he thought. "Yet why should I bother myself? The Mole's no pal of mine now. Let him look after his own property."
But this attitude did not last. The roots of the old comradeship remained, though the leaves had withered. In the night recollections of former days crowded upon his mind, and his thoughts of the Mole became more kindly.
"Hanged if I don't fetch it, and send it back to him," he said to himself.
He got up about four o'clock in the morning, called Lo San, and told him to put some chapatties and soda water into the sampan.
"We're going to fetch Mr. Burroughs' flying boat," he said.
"No this time, sah," said the servant, anxiously. "No belongey leason.[#] Plenty bad fellas longside ribber."