I posed as the promoter of resort syndicates, and I hired
the Scimitar and sailed over to Bear Island; and I didn't have a bad time
that afternoon, only Cooke insisted on making remarks about my whiskers,
and I was in mortal fear lest he might accidentally pull one off. He
came cursed near it. By the way, he's the very deuce of a man, isn't he?
I knew he took me for a detective, so I played the part. And in the
night that ass of a state senator nearly gave me pneumonia by getting me
out in the air to tell me they had hid you in a cave. So I sat up all
night, and followed the relief party in the morning, and you nearly
disfigured me for life when you threw that bottle into the woods. Then
I went back to camp, and left so fast that I forgot my extra pair of red
whiskers. I had two of each disguise, you know, so I didn't miss them.
"'I guess,' Mr. Allen went on, gleefully, 'that I got off about as
cleanly as any criminal ever did, thanks to you. If we'd fixed the thing
up between us it couldn't have been any neater, could it? Because I went
straight to Far Harbor and got you into a peck of trouble, right away,
and then slipped quietly into Canada, and put on the outfit of a
travelling salesman. And right here another bright idea struck me. Why
not carry the thing farther? I knew that you had advertised a trip to
Europe (why, the Lord only knows), so I went East and sailed for England
on the Canadian Line.
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