“‘The rest,’ ’e says, ‘is silence,’ an’ he shook ’ands and went clickin’ into Simons Town station.”
“Did he stop to see Mrs. Bathurst at Worcester?” I asked.
“It’s not known. He reported at Bloemfontein, saw the ammunition into the trucks, and then ’e disappeared. Went out—deserted, if you care to put it so—within eighteen months of his pension, an’ if what ’e said about ’is wife was true he was a free man as ’e then stood. How do you read it off?”
“Poor devil!” said Hooper. “To see her that way every night! I wonder what it was.”
“I’ve made my ’ead ache in that direction many a long night.”
“But I’ll swear Mrs. B. ’ad no ’and in it,” said the Sergeant unshaken.
“No. Whatever the wrong or deceit was, he did it, I’m sure o’ that. I ’ad to look at ’is face for five consecutive nights. I’m not so fond o’ navigatin’ about Cape Town with a South-Easter blowin’ these days. I can hear those teeth click, so to say.”
“Ah, those teeth,” said Hooper, and his hand went to his waistcoat pocket once more. “Permanent things false teeth are. You read about ’em in all the murder trials.”
“What d’you suppose the captain knew—or did?” I asked.
“I never turned my searchlight that way,” Pyecroft answered unblushingly.