“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
ter despair was written in the lines of his mouth and forehead. Finally he said in dead tones:
“I might just as well have done for myself last night. That ’s better than—being caught and—” (he hesitated), "brought back.”
“Oh, Tommy rot!” retorted Micky. “A live dog ’s better than a dead lion! You ’re a long way from Bow Street yet. Lots of things can happen before we reach New York.”
Cloud shook his head.
“Nothing can happen,” he replied. “No matter what comes, I ’m done for! You say you heard my talk with Mrs. Trevelyan and so of course you must know I ’m Cosmo Graeme, a fugitive from justice, a man charged with murder!”
He dropped his cigarette on the floor and crunched it out with his heel.
“Why, yest—of course I know that,” answered Micky in a conversational tone. “You can't conceal yourself on the Atlantic Ocean, my friend! It ’s worse than Broadway or Regent Street. Now I should never think of trying to hide on a ship—if they spot you, there you are. You should have thought of that before you got on board.”
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