I found him walking the deck carrying himself nonchalantly and
trying to appear unconscious of the glances--amused, contemptuous,
hostile--that were turned toward him. He would have passed me without
speaking, but I took his arm and led him to the rail. We had long passed
quarantine and a convoy of tugs were butting us into the dock.
"What are you going to do?" I asked.
"Doesn't depend on me," he said. "Depends on Smedburg. He's a busy
little body!"
The boy wanted me to think him unconcerned, but beneath the flippancy I
saw the nerves jerking. Then quite simply he began to tell me. He spoke
in a low, even monotone, dispassionately, as though for him the
incident no longer was of interest.
"They were watching me," he said. "But I _knew_ they were, and besides,
no matter how close they watched I could have done what they said I did
and they'd never have seen it. But I didn't."
My scepticism must have been obvious, for he shook his head.
"I didn't!" he repeated stubbornly. "I didn't have to! I was playing in
luck--wonderful luck--sheer, dumb luck.
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