“This thing was painted on the spot. Maartin was looking at this thing when he painted it. You can see the big shadows underneath. No living creature could have imagined this or painted it from hearsay. He had to see it. And he did see it. I wasn't thinking about this, Godfrey. I was thinking the Dutch government might help a bit in the hope of finding some trace of Maartin and I should wish to examine any information they might have about him.”
“Damn the Dutch government!” cried the little man. “And damn Lloyd's. We will go it on our own hook.”
The biologist smiled.
“Let me think about it, a little,” he said.
The dapper man flipped a big watch out of his waistcoat pocket.
“Surely!” he cried, “I must get the next train up. Have you got a place to lock the stuff? I had to cut this lid open with a chisel.”
He indicated the tin dispatch box.
“Better keep it all. You'll want to run through the diary, I imagine. Tony's got down the things explorer chaps are always keen about; temperature, water supply, food and all that..... Now, I'm off. See you Thursday afternoon at the United Service Club. Better lunch with me.”
Then he pushed the dispatch box across the table. The biologist rose and turned back the lid of the box. The contents remained as Sir Godfrey's dead son had left them; a limp leather diary, an automatic pistol of some American make, a few glass tubes of quinine, packed in cotton wool.
He put the water color on the bottom of the box and replaced them.