"Cap'n Zeb," he says, "I—I'm dreadful sorry, but—but—"
Then he was interrupted. A big, tall, gray-haired chap, who was settin' about amidships of the table got to his feet.
"Just a minute, Officer," says he, quiet, and never lettin' go of his cigar, "just a minute, please. The—er—lady and gentleman you have with you are old acquaintances of mine. Hello, Francis! I'm very glad to see you. We've missed you at the Conquilquit Club. This meetin' is unexpected, but not the less pleasant."
He was talkin' to the Frank man. And the Frank man—well, you should have seen him! The red went out of his face and he almost flopped over onto the floor. The stewardess went white, too, and she grabbed his arm with both hands.
"My Lord!" she says, in a whisper like, "it's Mr. Washburn!"
"Correct, Hortense," says the gray-haired man. "You haven't forgotten me, I see. Flattered, I'm sure."
For just about ten seconds the three of 'em looked at each other. Then Frank made a jump for the door and the woman with him. They was out and down the steps afore poor old Bean could get his brains to workin'.
"Stop 'em!" shouts Washburn. "Officer, don't let 'em get away!"
But they'd got away already. By the time we'd reached the porch they was in the buggy they'd come in and flyin' down the road in a cloud of dust.
I wiped my forehead.