Loder touched the rings. “You have good taste,” he said. “Let's see if they serve their purpose?” He picked them up and carried them to the lamp.
Chilcote followed him. “That was an ugly wound,” he said, his curiosity reawakening as Loder extended his finger. “How did you come by it?”
The other smiled. “It's a memento,” he said.
“Of bravery?”
“No. Quite the reverse.” He looked again at his hand, then glanced back at Chilcote. “No,” he repeated, with an unusual impulse of confidence. “It serves to remind me that I am not exempt—that I have been fooled like other men.”
“That implies a woman?”
“Yes.” Again Loder looked at the scar on his finger. “I seldom recall the thing, it's so absolutely past. But I rather like to remember it to-night. I rather want you to know that I've been through the fire. It's a sort of guarantee.”
Chilcote made a hasty gesture, but the other interrupted it.
“Oh, I know you trust me. But you're giving me a risky post. I want you to see that women are out of my line—quite out of it.”
“But, my dear chap—”