V

General Macarthur looked out of the carriage window. The train was just coming into Exeter,

where he had to change. Damnable, these slow branch line trains! This place, Soldier Island,

was really no distance at all as the crow flies.

He hadn’t got it clear who this fellow Owen was. A friend of Spoof¹ Leggard’s, apparently²

—and of Johnnie Dyer’s.

“—One or two of your old cronies are coming—would like to have a talk over old

times.”

Well, he’d enjoy a chat about old times. He’d had a fancy lately that fellows were rather

fighting shy of him. All owing to that damned rumour³! By God, it was pretty hard—nearly

thirty years ago now! Armitage had talked, he supposed. Damned young pup! What did he

know about it? Oh, well, no good brooding about these things! One fancied things sometimes—

fancied a fellow was looking at you queerly.

This Soldier Island, now, he’d be interested to see it. A lot of gossip flying about. Looked

as though there might be something in the rumour that the Admiralty or the War Office or the

Air Force had got hold of it….

Young Elmer Robson, the American millionaire, had actually built the place. Spent

thousands on it, so it was said. Every mortal luxury….

Exeter! And an hour to wait! And he didn’t want to wait. He wanted to get on….

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