McVay again looked puzzled, but rose to the occasion.
“Oh, hardly that,” he said. “Every now and then I have a way of putting things,—a way of my own. I find often I am able to amuse people, but if you are cheerful yourself, you make other people so. I was just thinking that it must be a great thing for men who have been in prison for years to have some one come in with a new point of view.”
“I’m sure you will be an addition to prison life. It’s an ill wind, you know.”
“It’s an ill wind for my sister, literally enough. Come, Holland, you certainly can trust me. Do be starting.”
“Why, what do you take me for?” said the exasperated Geoffrey. “Do you really suppose that I am going, looking for a den of your accomplices in order to give you a chance to escape?”
“‘Accomplices!’” exclaimed McVay; and for the first time a shade of anger crossed his brow; “‘accomplices’! I have no accomplices. Anything I do I think I am able to do alone. Still,” he added putting aside his annoyance, “if you feel nervous about leaving me I’d just as lief give you my word of honour to stay here until you come back.”
“Your what?”
McVay made a slight gesture of his shoulders, as if he were being a good deal tried. “Oh, anything you like,” he said. “I suppose you could lock me up in a closet.”
“I don’t think we need trouble to arrange the details,” said Geoffrey drily. “But I’ll tell you what I will do. After I get you safely in jail to-morrow, I’ll get a trap and go and look up this hut.”
“It may be too late then.”