II


For a moment the two men stood in silence, listening to the sullen
beat of surf beyond the black edge of forest. Then Philip led the
way back into the cabin.

Gregson followed. In the light of the big oil-lamp which hung
suspended from the ceiling he noticed something in Whittemore's
face he had not observed before, a tenseness about the muscles of
his mouth, a restlessness in his eyes, rigidity of jaw, an air of
suppressed emotion which puzzled him. He was keenly observant of
details, and knew that these things had been missing a short time
before. The pleasure of their meeting that afternoon, after a
separation of nearly two years, had dispelled for a time the
trouble which he now saw revealing itself in his companion's face
and attitude, and the lightness of Whittemore's manner in
beginning his explanation for inducing him to come into the north
had helped to complete the mask. There occurred to him, for an
instant, a picture which he had once drawn of Whittemore as he had
known him in certain stirring times still fresh in the memory of
each--a picture of the old, cool, irresistible Whittemore, smiling
in the face of danger, laughing outright at perplexities, always
ready to fight with a good-natured word on his lips. He had drawn
that picture for Burke's, and had called it "The Fighter." Burke
himself had criticized it because of the smile. But Gregson knew
his man. It was Whittemore.