Congosta put his hand to his forehead. "It is nothing serious. Only my head aches very much. I think they would have killed me if it had not been for my hat."
"Let's have a look," said Tony. "I know a little about cracked skulls."
He came round to where Congosta was sitting, and bending over the latter's chair, very carefully parted the hair at a place where it was matted with congealed blood.
"It's a nasty bump," he said sympathetically; "but I don't think there is any real damage done. You must have a very good hatter."
"Shall I fetch some hot water and bathe it for you?" suggested Guy, getting up from his seat.
Congosta raised his hand protestingly. "It will wait," he said with a certain grimness. "What we are speaking of will not."
Tony seated himself on the arm of the opposite chair. "Go on," he said. "What happened when you came round?"
"For a little while," continued Congosta, "I could remember nothing. Then suddenly it all came back to me, and somehow the shock seemed to make me strong again. The people in the wine shop wished to send for the police, but I would not let them. Instead I paid them to get me a taxi. I had made up my mind that first I would come to you, and that I would find out the truth. I could see from the window that the yacht had already moved from her moorings, and I knew that it was now too late for anything except to warn my friends in Livadia. That—and to be revenged upon you, if you had betrayed me."
There was a pause.
"It's horrible to be so helpless," said Guy with a sort of groan. "Is there nothing that we can do? I suppose there would be no chance of getting them held up for an hour or two at Southend?"