dragging his reluctant feet. He had lived forty years on the
Islands. Percival Ford beckoned to him, and the clerk came
respectfully, and wondering that he should be noticed by Percival
Ford.

"John," Ford said, "I want you to give me some information. Won't
you sit down?"

The clerk sat down awkwardly, stunned by the unexpected honour. He
blinked at the other and mumbled, "Yes, sir, thank you."

"John, who is Joe Garland?"

The clerk stared at him, blinked, cleared his throat, and said
nothing.

"Go on," Percival Ford commanded.

"Who is he?"

"You're joking me, sir," the other managed to articulate.

"I spoke to you seriously."

The clerk recoiled from him.

"You don't mean to say you don't know?" he questioned, his question
in itself the answer.

"I want to know."