involuntarily at his sides for a moment while he went on thinking; and then he turned away and began minutely examining some buds of rose-crimson Papa Gontiers as the pilot walked under a rustic arch and came towards him.
'I'm terribly sorry,' said the aviator, 'but I'm afraid I've had a forced landing in your grounds.'
Renway looked at him for a moment. He had a dangerous devil-may-care sort of mouth, which showed very white teeth when he smiled. Enrique had had a smile very much like that.
'So I see,' said Renway and returned to his study of rosebuds.
His voice was an epitome of all the mincing rudeness which the English lower classes have been so successfully trained to regard as a symbol of superiority. The Saint would have liked to hit him with a spanner; but he restrained himself.
'I'm terribly sorry,' he repeated. 'My oil pressure started to drop rather quickly, and I had to come down where I could. I don't think I've done any damage. If you can direct me to the village, I'll arrange to get the machine moved as quickly as possible.'
'One of the servants will show you the way.''
Renway looked up with his complacent squint and glanced at the gardener, who put away his pruning knife and dusted his hands.
'It's very good of you,' said the Saint; and then an unfortunate accident happened.
He was carrying a valise in one hand, which he had taken out of the machine and brought with him. It could not have been very securely fastened, for at that moment it fell open.
A cascade of shirts, socks, pyjamas, shaving tackle, and similar impedimenta might not have distracted Renway for more than a couple of seconds from his horticultural absorption; but nothing of the kind fell out. Instead, the valise emptied itself of a heavy load of small square tins such as cough lozenges are sold in. The tins did, in fact, carry printed labels proclaiming their contents to be cough lozenges; but one of them burst open in its fall and scattered a small snowfall of white powder over the path.
Simon dropped on his knees and shoveled the tins back with rather unsteady hands, forcing them into the attache case with more haste than efficiency. He scraped the white powder clumsily back into the one which had burst open; and when Renway touched him on the shoulder he jumped.
'Pardon my curiosity,' said Renway, with unexpected suaveness, 'but you have the most unusual luggage.'
Simon laughed somewhat shortly.
'Yes, I suppose it is. I'm the Continental traveller for--er--some patent-medicine manufacturers------'
'I see.'
Renway looked back at the aeroplane again; and again his hands tensed involuntarily at his sides. And then, once more, he looked at the Saint. Simon forced the last tin into his case, crammed the locks together, and straightened up.
'I'm awfully sorry to give you so much trouble,' he said.
'Not at all.' Renway's voice was dry, unnatural. He was aghast at himself, sweating coldly under the arms at the realization of what he was doing; but he spoke without any conscious volition. The jangling of his nerves forced him on, provided the motive power for the fantastic inspiration which had seized him. 'In fact, my chauffeur can drive into Folkestone himself and make the necessary arrangements, while you stay here. You can give him instructions; and it's sure to mean a good deal of waiting about. I surrpose the authorities will have to be notified . . .'
He was watching the pilot closely when he uttered that last sentence, although the cast in his eye made him appear to be staring past him; and he did not miss the slight instantaneous tightening of the dangerous mouth.
'Oh, I couldn't possibly let you do that,' Simon protested. 'I've given you quite enough trouble as it is-----'
'Not a bit of it,' insisted Renway, still watching him.
He was quite sure now. The pilot stiffened almost imperceptibly--Renway saw the shift off his eyes and the whitening of his knuckles on the hand which clutched the valise, and went on with more pronounced assurance: 'It's no trouble at all to me, and my chauffeur has far too little to do. Besides, that landing must have given you one or two bad moments; and I'm sure you wouldn't refuse a drink. Come along up to the house, my dear fellow, and let me 'see what I can find for you.'
He took the Saint's arm and led him away with a grim cordiality which it would have been difficult to resist--- even if Simon had wanted to. They went through a small rockery up to the tennis lawn, across the lawn to a paved terrace, through open French windows into a rather stuffy library.
'Will you have a cigarette--or is it too early for a cigar?'
Simon took a cigarette and lighted it while Renway rang the bell.
'Sit down, Mr.--er------'
'Tombs.'
'Sit down, Mr. Tombs.'
The Saint sat on the edge of a plush armchair and smoked in silence until the butler answered the bell. Renway ordered drinks, and the butler went out again. The silence went on. Renway went over to a window and stood there, humming unmusically to himself.
'Awkward thing to have happen to you,' ventured the Saint.
Renway half turned his head.
'I beg your pardon?'
'I said, it's an awkward thing to have happened to you--oil pressure going down.'
