Page:The Black Camel (IA blackcamel0000earl).djvu/281

when matter is discussed, you confess to crime you did not do, in order to change subject. Then, this morning, you discover yourself sudden lover of art, and buy picture from Smith, hoping to keep him quiet.” He looked fixedly at the actor. “I rejoice you got nice painting, Mr. Fyfe. Because that will be all you get. Smith can not longer keep quiet. Smith is about to speak.”

A look of distress crossed the actor’s face, and was succeeded by one of anger. He wheeled about and faced the beach-comber. “You contemptible——”

Smith raised a protesting hand. “I know—I know. What a broken reed I’ve turned out to be. I’m as sorry about this as you are, old man. But these keen lads here have got something on me—something rather serious—it means prison unless I ditch you. And I’ve slept in the pure open air so much—somehow a prison cot doesn’t appeal to me. Frightfully sorry, as I said, but I’m going to throw you over. By the way, have you got a cigarette?”

Fyfe glared at him for a moment, and then, shrugging his shoulders, opened a silver case and held it out. Smith helped himself.

“Thanks. It’s a wretched affair, Mr. Fyfe, and—no, that’s all right, I’ve got a match—the sooner we get it over with, the better.” He lighted the cigarette, and took a long pull at it. “To return to our favorite subject—last night on the beach—I went up to that pavilion window and they were in there together—this man and Shelah Fane. She was doing most of the talking—I got a look at her—lovely, even more so than in the films. I’d rather like to have painted her—wearing that cream-colored gown——”