Devar soon appeared. His mother had managed to inform him that the substituted driver was responsible for the complete collapse of Marigny’s project, and he was puffing with annoyance, though well aware that he must not display it.
“Well,” said he, strutting up to Medenham and blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke from his thick lips, “well, what is it, my man?”
For answer, Medenham disconnected a lamp and held it close to his own face.
“Do you recognize me?” he asked.
Devar, in blank astonishment, affected to screw in his eyeglass more firmly.
“No,” he said, “nor am I particularly anxious to make your acquaintance. You have behaved wather badly, I understand, but that is of no consequence now, as Simmonds has bwought his car he-aw——”
“Look again, Devar. We last met in Calcutta, where you swindled me out of fifty pounds. Unfortunately I did not hear of your presence in South Africa until you were cashiered at Cape Town, or I might have saved the authorities some trouble.”
The man wilted under those stern eyes.
“Good gad! Medenham!” he stammered.
Medenham replaced the lamp in its socket.