"
Roscoe did as he requested, and handed the money over to Mr. Devlin for
safe keeping, remarking, at the same time, that the matter should be
announced on a bulletin outside the office at once.
As Kilby stood chewing the end of a cigar and listening to the brief
conversation between Roscoe and Mr. Devlin, perplexity crossed his face.
He said, as Roscoe turned round: "There's something catchy about your
voice, Padre. I don't know what; but it's familiar like. You never was on
the Panama level, of course?"
"Never."
"Nor in Australia?"
"Yes, in 1876."
"I wasn't there then."
Roscoe grew a shade paler, but he was firm and composed. He was
determined to answer truthfully any question that was asked him, wherever
it might lead.
"Nor in Samoa?"
There was the slightest pause, and then the reply came:
"Yes, in Samoa."
"Not a missionary, by gracious! Not a mickonaree in Samoa?"
"No." He said nothing further. He did not feel bound to incriminate
himself.
"No? Well, you wasn't a beachcomber, nor trader, I'll swear. Was you
there in the last half of the Seventies? That's when I was there.
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