“Done!” said Bainbridge.
“Hold on, old chaps!” Blackburn knocked out the ashes from his pipe. “D’ye know you’re about to play a devilish risky game? Shouldn’t care to enter it myself. Luck to you, however, if you must. But both of you are taking too much for granted.”
“You hold the stakes, then,” said Villiers complacently. “Next trip we meet here, as per schedule, we’ll have our mail first thing and rendezvous at eight for supper. If we can’t read our letters aloud we can at least describe the attitude taken therein, which is the point under discussion.”
“Very well,” said Blackburn, “but I warn you it’s a silly affair.”
· · · · · · ·
Nine weeks later Blackburn, tying his tie before the mirror in his cabin, felt a curious interest in seeing his two friends as had been arranged at their previous meeting. They would have received their mail from home even as he had received his, but it was with a thrill of satisfaction that he remembered he had not endangered his own or his wife’s happiness in what he considered the mad manner of his friends.
Very promptly, then, and most serene, he appeared on the terrace and seated himself at the usual table to await their arrival.
Bainbridge presently appeared and, after greeting Blackburn, sat down and lit a pipe. They talked spasmodically. A curious tranquillity seemed to have enveloped the little man, which so held Blackburn’s attention that he could think of nothing to say. They sat in silence, Blackburn mentally taking stock of his friend. All his nervousness and cynicism seemed to have left him, and his eyes, usually so furtive, looked very still and deep.
“Wonder why Villiers doesn’t come along,” said Blackburn at last.
Bainbridge nodded.... “I’ll read you my letter now,” he said, and in a lower voice: “By Jove, old chap, I was quite wrong, d’ye know? Never would have believed it possible any one could feel so about a chap like me.”