"Your sincere friend,
"L.J. McMURTRIE."
As I read the signature McMurtrie's smiling mask-like face seemed suddenly to rise up in front of me, and all my old instincts of distrust and repulsion came to keep it company. So he was at the bungalow, and in little over an hour he would be here—he and the mysterious friend who was "already considerably interested in our little company." I smiled grimly at the phrase; it was so characteristic of the doctor; though when he wrote it he could little have guessed how thoroughly I should be able to appreciate it.
He was also equally ignorant of the complications introduced into the affair by Sonia. Unless I had been altogether misled by Gertie's message, it was probable that the police were even now on their way to arrest me, just as McMurtrie's launch was most likely setting out from the little creek under the bungalow. There seemed every prospect of my having a busy and interesting morning.
At this point in my reflections I looked up, and found Charles eyeing me with an air of respectful patience. I took some money out of my pocket, and selecting a ten-shilling piece placed it in his grubby but not unwilling palm.
"You are a most useful boy, Charles," I said, "and you can keep the change as usual."
He pocketed the coin with a gratified stammer.
"You ain't 'ad time to make no fireworks yourself, sir?" he hazarded, after a short pause.
"Not yet," I replied; "but it looks as if I should today."
He brightened up still further at the news, and observing that he hoped there would be some letters to bring the next morning departed on his return journey.