"I have only recently returned to England, and have but just heard of the accident that has befallen my son," said Mr. Hibbert. "You saved his life. I was anxious not to go before I had thanked you."
He took Paul's hand in his, and pressed it hard. A boy less strong than Paul would have winced under that grip of steel.
"I'm glad to know Hibbert's father."
"And I'm glad to know Paul Percival. It isn't often one meets with a brave lad like you."
Again he gripped Paul's hand, and seemed to be regarding him as keenly as ever through his glasses to see if he stood his grip without flinching.
"I think you would find many who would do as I did—even here at Garside. It was my luck to be a good swimmer. And that luck—if I may call it luck—I owe to my father."
"Your father taught you, you mean."
"No," said Paul, shaking his head sadly; "I wish he had. He died when I was very young—when I could scarcely more than walk; but he was in the Navy, and it was by his wish that I was taught swimming. The saddest part is that he was drowned—drowned in saving another man's life."
"Really? That is sad. I hope that the man whom your father saved from a watery grave was as grateful to him as I am to you."
Paul was silent. He was thinking that if Mr. Hibbert's gratitude were no greater than the gratitude of the spy whom his father had saved from drowning it would not count for much.