“That was not a good answer,” he said. He shrugged, and spread his fingers. “However, you will have to deal with this Captain Cat-and-mouse. It is for that I engaged you.”
I nodded.
Ringgo smiled and patted his bandaged arm, saying:
“I wish you more luck with him than I had.”
Mrs. Ringgo put out a hand and let the pointed fingertips touch her husband’s wrist for a moment.
I asked Kavalov:
“This injury I was to suppose I had done: how serious was it?”
He pursed his lips, made little wavy motions with the fingers of his right hand, and said:
“Oh—ah—ruin.”
“We can take it for granted, then, that your captain’s really up to something?”
“Good God!” said Ringgo, dropping his fork. “I wouldn’t like to think he’d broken my arm just in fun.”
Behind me the sallow servant spoke to his mate:
“He wants to know if we think the captain’s really up to something.”
“I heard him,” the other said gloomily. “A lot of help he’s going to be to us.”
Kavalov tapped his plate with a fork and made angry faces at the servants.