"What I am and what I was a few weeks ago are two very different conditions," said Dacres without hesitation. "I was once a British naval officer. Now I am a—well, one of the unemployed, I suppose."
"Sorry, 'pon my word," said the other sympathetically. "Let's hear your story—but wait: you must be famished. I'll get something to eat and drink."
With that Whittinghame left the room, ostensibly to order refreshment. He also took the opportunity of consulting the latest quarterly copy of the official Navy List.
"By Jove! I'm in luck," soliloquized Dacres. "Whittinghame's quite a decent sort. I may even be able to get him to let me have a trip with him. Anyway, it's something to occupy my mind, and since the governor doesn't know I'm in England our somewhat delicate interview can wait."
He looked round the room. There was nothing to denote the aerial propensities of his host. Over the mantelpiece was a pair of huge horns covered with a metallic substance resembling silver. On the walls were oil-paintings of country scenes which looked suspiciously like Constable's work. In one corner was a gun rack containing several twelve bores and rook-rifles; a few fishing-rods and a pair of waders occupied another. A smoker's cabinet stood on the massive oak table. The room might well be the den of an ordinary country gentleman.
Presently Whittinghame returned followed by a serving-man bearing a loaded tray.
"That will be all to-night, Williamson," said his master. "You can lock up and go to bed."
"Very good, sir."
"H'm!" thought Dacres, looking at the black-garbed man. "You're a bit of a quick-change artist, I know." For he recognized the fellow by his voice: he was the one who had been left to keep an eye on the captive when the airship returned.
"Now, set to," continued Whittinghame genially. "Then, if you're not too tired, we can yarn over a pipe."