“I suppose so,” acquiesced Virginia.
“He’s always following me round,” continued Anthony. “Just like a dog. Says next to nothing. Just looks at me with his big round eyes. I can’t make him out.”
“Perhaps he meant Isaacstein,” suggested Virginia. “Isaacstein looks foreign enough, Heaven knows.”
“Isaacstein,” muttered Anthony impatiently. “Where the devil does he come in?”
“Are you ever sorry that you’ve mixed yourself up in all this?” asked Virginia suddenly.
“Sorry? Good Lord, no. I love it. I’ve spent most of my life looking for trouble, you know. Perhaps, this time, I’ve got a little more than I bargained for.”
“But you’re well out of the wood now,” said Virginia, a little surprised by the unusual gravity of his tone.
“Not quite.”
They strolled on for a minute or two in silence.
“There are some people,” said Anthony, breaking the silence, “who don’t conform to the signals. An ordinary well-regulated locomotive slows down or pulls up when it sees the red light hoisted against it. Perhaps I was born colourblind. When I see the red signal—I can’t help forging ahead. And in the end, you know, that spells disaster. Bound to. And quite right really. That sort of thing is bad for traffic generally.”
He still spoke very seriously.