“With the Chairman of the Senate Committee on Naval Affairs?”
“We were in his party!”
“A party which until five days ago he had not joined—at least, so the Superintendent told me, when I dined at his house. He happened to mention your name, found I knew you—and we gossiped. Perhaps we shouldn’t, but we did.”
“What else did he tell you?”
“Nothing! he didn’t seem even to wonder at your being there——”
“But you did?”
“It’s the small town in me, I suppose—to be curious about other people and their business; and it was most suspicious.”
“What was most suspicious?” he asked.
“Your actions. First, you hire a boat and cross 195 the Bay direct from Hampton to Annapolis. Second, you procure, through Senator Rickrose, a permit from the Secretary of the Navy to camp on Greenberry Point. Third, you actually do camp, there, for nearly, or quite three weeks. Query:—Why? Why go clear to the Western Shore, and choose a comparatively inaccessible and exposed location on United States property, if the idea were only a camp? Why not camp over on Kent Island, or on this coast? Anywhere, within a few miles of Hampton, there are scores of places better adapted than Greenberry Point.”
“You should be a story teller!” he laughed. “Your imagination is marvelous. With a series of premises, you can reach whatever conclusion you wish—you’re not bound by the probabilities.”