“That sometimes happens, of course,” said he, carelessly. He produced his inevitable gold cigarette case and held it out to me. “Be sociable for once, and have one,” he said.
I accepted.
“Do you know,” he continued, lighting me a match, “it beats me why you and Miss Trevor put this thing up on me. You have enjoyed it, naturally, and if you wanted to make me out a donkey you succeeded rather well. I used to think that Crocker was a pretty good friend of mine when I went to his dinners in New York. And I once had every reason to believe,” he added, “that Miss Trevor and I were on excellent terms.”
Was this audacity or stupidity? Undoubtedly both.
“So we were,” answered Miss Trevor, “and I should be very sorry to think, Mr. Allen,” she said meaningly, “that our relations had in any way changed.”
It was the Celebrity's turn to flush.
“At any rate,” he remarked in his most offhand manner, “I am much obliged to you both. On sober reflection I have come to believe that you did the very best thing for my reputation.”
CHAPTER XX
He had scarcely uttered these words before the reason for the Maria's abrupt departure became apparent. The anchorage of the yacht had been at a spot whence nearly the whole south of the lake towards Far Harbor was open, whilst a high tongue of land hid that part from us on the shore. As he spoke, there shot before our eyes a steaming tug-boat, and a second look was not needed to assure me that she was the “H. Sinclair, of Far Harbor.” They had perceived her from the yacht an hour since, and it was clear that my client, prompt to act as to think, had decided at once to put out and lead her a blind chase, so giving the Celebrity a chance to make good his escape.