Gerald Ainley did not reply. He stood there with an embarrassed look on his face, obviously ill at ease, and the other continued: "You do not seem pleased to see me—an old friend—you cut me just now. Why?"
"Well—er—really, Stane you—you ought to—er—be able to guess!"
"Perhaps I can," answered Stane ruthlessly. "Things are different now. I am a discharged convict, down and out, and old friendship counts for nothing. Is that it?"
"Well," replied Ainley, half-apologetically, "you can scarcely expect that it sould be otherwise. I suppose that, really, that is why you left England. It would have been impossible for you to resume your old life among the men you knew——"
"You are the first of them that I have encountered—with one exception."
"Indeed," asked the other politely, "who was the exception?"
"It was Kingsley. You remember him? He came to see me just before I left Dartmoor. He believed in my innocence, and he wanted me to stay in England and clear my name. He also told me something that set me thinking, and latterly I have been rather wanting to meet you, because there is a question I want answering."
The sound of the bugle playing a gay fanfare broke in on the silence that followed his words, and this was followed by a rather scattered cheer. Ainley started.
"Really, Stane, you must excuse me just now; I must go down to the wharf—it is my duty to do so. At—er—a more fitting opportunity I shall be glad for the sake of old times, to answer any question that you may wish to ask me. But I really must go now. That is one of the governors of the company arriving. He will be expecting to see me!"
He took a step towards the door, but the other blocked the way.