He started to lead Garrod, unresisting, back to camp. Suddenly he remembered the note-book, and his hand flew to his pocket. It was gone.
XI
THE SHOWDOWN
Sidney Vassall, wondering what had become of Linda, wandered about camp covertly looking for her. The amiable young aide-de-camp had his dull heartache too, these days. An instinct warned him that the humble attitude he displayed toward her would never succeed in focussing the little beauty's attention on himself, but he was unable to change it. He was the victim of his own amiability.
Coming to the edge of the bank, he met the odd little procession coming up; Garrod with his wild, blank stare; Jack with his hand twisted in Garrod's collar, and Linda following at a little distance, pale, angry, and frightened.
Vassall's jaw dropped. "What's the matter?" he stammered.
Jack let go his hold on Garrod, and scowled at him, angry and perplexed. "He's mad," he said shortly. "Clean daft!"
Vassall fell back a step. "Easy, for God's sake," he murmured. "She'll hear you."
"Oh, she knows," Jack said carelessly. "The question is, what are we to do with him?"
The first command in Vassall's highly artificial code was: "Keep it from the women!" Turning to Linda with a shaky imitation of his polite smile, he said: "Mrs. Worsley has been wondering where you were. You'll find her in the big tent."