“No,” I replied. “It just happens that I have not.”
“Nor to anybody else?—to, say, Captain West?—or, say, Mr. Pike?”
“No, I haven’t mentioned it to anybody,” I averred.
He could not conceal the relief he experienced. The perturbation went out of his face and manner, and the ambushed thing drew back deeper into the recess of his skull.
“The favour, sir, Mr. Pathurst, that I would prefer is that you will not mention that little matter to anybody. I suppose” (he smiled, and his voice was superlatively suave) “it is vanity on my part—you understand, I am sure.”
I nodded, and made a restless movement with my book as evidence that I desired to resume my reading.
“I can depend upon you for that, Mr. Pathurst?” His whole voice and manner had changed. It was practically a command, and I could almost see fangs, bared and menacing, sprouting in the jaws of that thing I fancied dwelt behind his eyes.
“Certainly,” I answered coldly.
“Thank you, sir—I thank you,” he said, and, without more ado, tiptoed from the room.
Of course I did not read. How could I? Nor did I sleep. My mind ran on, and on, and not until the steward brought my coffee, shortly before five, did I sink into my first doze.