* * * * *
In the brief interval of time which Marlowe had spent in the state-room,
chatting with Eustace about the latter's bruised soul, some
rather curious things had been happening above. Not extraordinary,
perhaps, but curious. These must now be related. A story, if it is to
grip the reader, should, I am aware, go always forward. It should
march. It should leap from crag to crag like the chamois of the Alps.
If there is one thing I hate, it is a novel which gets you interested
in the hero in chapter one and then cuts back in chapter two to tell
you all about his grandfather. Nevertheless, at this point we must go
back a space. We must return to the moment when, having deposited her
Pekinese dog in her state-room, the girl with the red hair came out
again on deck. This happened just about the time when Eustace Hignett
was beginning his narrative.
By now the bustle which precedes the departure of an ocean liner was at
its height. Hoarse voices were crying, "All for the shore!" The gangway
was thronged with friends of passengers returning to land.
Pages:
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49