“Have you a figure?” said Lomas bitterly. It is to be confessed that a certain solidity distinguishes Reggie Fortune. Years of service as the scientific adviser of Scotland Yard have not marred the pink and white of his cherubic face, but they have brought weight to a body never svelte.
Mr. Fortune let the punt drift. “That’s vulgar abuse. What’s the matter, old thing?”
“I dislike your horrible competence. Is there anything you can’t do?”
“I don’t think so,” said Mr. Fortune modestly. “Jack of all trades and master of none. That is why I am a specialist.”
The Hon. Sidney Lomas sat up. “Secondly, I resent your hurry to get rid of me. Thirdly, as I am going up to London to work and you are going back in this punt to do nothing, I should like to annoy you. Fourthly and lastly I know that I shan’t, and that embitters me. Does anything ever annoy you, Fortune?”
Lomas groaned. “All criminals are perverse.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Most crime is a natural product.”
“Of course fools are natural,” said Lomas irritably. “The most natural of all animals. And if there were no fools--I shouldn’t spend the summer at Scotland Yard.”
“Well, many criminals are weak in the head.”
“That’s why a policeman’s life is not a happy one.”
“But most of ’em are a natural product. Opportunity makes the thief or what not--and there but for the grace of God go I. Circumstances lead a fellow into temptation.”
“Yes. I’ve wanted to do murder myself. But even with you I have hitherto refrained. There’s always a kink in the criminal’s mind before he goes wrong. Good Gad!” He dropped his voice. “Did you see her?”
Mr. Fortune reproved him. “You’re so susceptible, Lomas. Control yourself. Think of my reputation. I am known in these parts.”
“My dear fellow! Oh, my dear fellow! I thought you were a student of the drama. She’s not tragic. She’s comedy and domestic pathos. Tea and tears. It was Rose Darcourt.”
“Good Gad!” said Lomas once more. “She looked like Lady Macbeth after the murder.”
Reggie glanced over his shoulder. From the shade of the veranda of the boat-house a white face stared at him. It seemed to become aware of him and fled. “Indigestion perhaps,” he said. “It does feel like remorse. Or have you been trifling with her affections, Lomas?”