“Well, Master Vincent,” said Brentin, looking up at me with grim joy, “here we all are, and here is the boodle. Come and help count.”
At that moment in came Masters. It appears he had fallen, getting down off the railway line, and muddied his trousers; he had been changing them, not caring to appear before his young lady with dirty knees.
Hines and Forsyth roused themselves, and, almost in silence, we sat down to count; not a sound but a step or two on deck overhead and the throb of the engines, the luxurious rustle of notes, the pleasing chink of gold.
Suddenly my sister said, “Where’s Mr. Parsons?”
Miss Rybot murmured, “Two hundred and forty-seven thousand-franc notes.”
I looked round the saloon. “Yes, by-the-way, where’s Teddy?”
There was no answer, and Brentin stopped emptying the last bag. “In his cabin, probably,” he said, carelessly.
“No, he’s not,” replied Masters, who shared it with him.
“He came in your boat,” said Brentin, looking across at me, startled.
“Indeed, he didn’t!”