V
General Macarthur looked out of the carriage window. The train was just
coming into Exeter, where he had to change. Damnable, these slow branch
line trains! This place, Soldier Island, was really no distance at all as the
crow flies.
He hadn’t got it clear who this fellow Owen was. A friend of
Spoof1 Leg-
gard’s, apparently—and of Johnnie Dyer’s.
‘—One or two of your old cronies are coming—would like
to have a talk over old times.’
Well, he’d enjoy a chat about old times. He’d had a fancy lately that fel-
lows were rather fighting shy of him. All owing to that damned
rumour2!
By God, it was pretty hard—nearly thirty years ago now! Armitage had
talked, he supposed. Damned young pup! What did he know about it? Oh,
well, no good brooding about these things! One fancied things sometimes
—fancied a fellow was looking at you queerly.
This Soldier Island, now, he’d be interested to see it. A lot of gossip flying
about. Looked as though there might be something in the rumour that the
Admiralty or the War Office or the Air Force had got hold of it…
Young Elmer Robson, the American millionaire, had actually built the
place. Spent thousands on it, so it was said. Every mortal luxury…
Exeter! And an hour to wait! And he didn’t want to wait. He wanted to
get on…
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