"Miss Trangmar saw me when I was cast adrift," said Jack patiently. "As to the rest, I think Garrod will bear me out, if he ever comes to his right senses. Why not have him in here now, and look him over? He may be better."
Sir Bryson was very much excited. He called Vassall into the tent, and the three men held a whispered consultation. Presently Linda came in, pale and charged with emotion. She headed directly for Jack. He fended her off with a look.
"If you give anything away, it will queer me for good with this crowd," he swiftly whispered.
She could not but perceive the force of this. A spasm passed over her face. Turning, she sat in a chair near the door, doing her best to look unconcerned.
When Sir Bryson saw her, he said: "We have important matters to discuss, my dear."
"It's only a tent," said Linda. "You can hear every word outside anyway."
"My dear——" began Sir Bryson.
"I'm going to stay," said Linda tempestuously, and that was the end of it.
The upshot of the consultation was that Jack should be confronted with Garrod. Sir Bryson was opposed to it, but the other two overruled him. Vassall went off to get Garrod, and they waited.
Sir Bryson's table was toward the top of the tent, and as he sat he faced the door. He frowned, and tapped on the table and pulled his beard. Occasionally, in spite of himself, his eyes bolted. It was as if a horrible doubt kept recurring to him that the situation was getting too much for him; that he had stirred up more than he was able to settle. Jack stood to the right of the table, with his upper lip drawn in, his face as hard as a wall. Poor Jack had no ingratiating ways when he was put on the defensive. Mrs. Worsley stole into the tent, and, sitting beside Linda, took her trembling hand. Baldwin Ferrie bent over them, and with a pale face whispered soothing things that they made no pretence of listening to.