My smile was almost a wince at his shift of tense to the past; then I replied evasively:
“This case?”
“Come, now, man,” he retorted sharply, and I regretted my attempt at fencing; “you look like more sense. And I believe, if you’ll remember our several positions at the present minute, that probably out-and-out frankness will strike you as the best policy. It is natural that I am puzzled about you at some points in reviewing the events of the past two days, and I see no better or quicker method of clearing the air than direct question and answer. So now, what say you? Of course, I can handle my own end in either course you choose to pursue, though personally I prefer candor.”
He was right; the upper hand was his, and it didn’t take me many seconds to reconcile my conscience to my superior’s, by saying:
“Let it be the truth, then, Mr. Stroth. And I certainly hope that something’ll come out that will make things a bit clearer to me. The Lord knows I’m in the dark deep enough myself. I’m ready.”
“First, then,” said he, as he handed me over a humidor of dusky-hued panetelas—though I noticed he didn’t take one himself—“perhaps it would be best for me to state my difficulties, eh?”
“As you will, sir,” I agreed, lighting the welcome cigar, which I really stood in need of.
“Here we have it, then,” he continued. “First I see you on the dock at Port Washington, and it’s the first time I ever saw you in my life, I believe.”
“Exactly,” I broke in, “and I believe I was at that time instrumental—was of some service?”
“Wait! That’s just the point. You were of service, immense service, I admit. I never would have thought that Pawlinson would have the nerve to risk fooling Stevens into hiring him for engineer of my own launch. And it might very well have succeeded but for you, as you say.”