Vickery would go up country that same evening to take over certain naval ammunition left after the war in Bloemfontein Fort. No details was ordered to accompany Master Vickery. He was told off first person singular—as a unit—-by himself.” The marine whistled penetratingly. “That’s what I thought,” said Pyecroft. “I went ashore with him in the cutter an’ ’e asked me to walk through the station. He was clickin’ audibly, but otherwise seemed happy-ish. “‘You might like to know,’ he says, stoppin’ just opposite the Admiral’s front gate, ‘that Phyllis’s Circus will be performin’ at Worcester to-morrow night. So I shall see ’er yet once again. You’ve been very patient with me,’ he says. “‘Look here, Vickery,’ I said, ‘this thing’s come to be just as much as I can stand. Consume your own smoke. I don’t want to know any more.’ “‘You!’ he said. ‘What have you got to complain of?—you’ve only ’ad to watch. I’m _it_,’ he says, ‘but that’s neither here nor there,’ he says. ‘I’ve one thing to say before shakin’ ’ands. Remember,’ ’e says—we were just by the Admiral’s garden-gate then—‘remember, that I am _not_ a murderer, because my lawful wife died in childbed six weeks after I came out. That much at least I am clear of,’ ’e says. “‘Then what have you done that signifies?’ I said. ‘What’s the rest of it?’ “‘The rest,’ ’e says, ‘is silence,’ an’ he shook ’ands and went clickin’ into Simons Town station.” “Did he stop to see Mrs. Bathurst at Worcester?” I asked. “It’s not known. He reported at Bloemfontein, saw the ammunition into the trucks, and then ’e disappeared. Went out—deserted, if you care to put it so—within eighteen months of his pension, an’ if what ’e said about ’is wife was true he was a free man as ’e then stood. How do you read it off?” “Poor devil!” said Hooper. “To see her that way every night! I wonder what it was.” “I’ve made my ’ead ache in that direction many a long night.” “But I’ll swear Mrs. B. ’ad no ’and in it,” said the Sergeant unshaken. “No. Whatever the wrong or deceit was, he did it, I’m sure o’ that. I ’ad to look at ’is face for five consecutive nights. I’m not so fond o’ navigatin’ about Cape Town with a South-Easter blowin’ these days. I can hear those teeth click, so to say.” “Ah, those teeth,” said Hooper, and his hand went to his waistcoat pocket once more. “Permanent things false teeth are. You read about ’em in all the murder trials.” “What d’you suppose the captain knew—or did?” I asked. “I never turned my searchlight that way,” Pyecroft answered unblushingly. We all reflected together, and drummed on empty beer bottles as the picnic-party, sunburned, wet, and sandy, passed our door singing “The Honeysuckle and the Bee.” “Pretty girl under that kapje,” said Pyecroft. “They never circulated his description?” said Pritchard. “I was askin’ you before these gentlemen came,” said Hooper to me, “whether you knew Wankies—on the way to the Zambesi—beyond Buluwayo?”