"I don't find you very intelligent this evening," he said.
Meanwhile Trent had had time to understand.
"When you said 'unearth' you meant 'unearth by accident'—I see—" he began.
"What the devil does it matter how she found it out?—it certainly wasn't by accident. The girl came to her and told her—you can't call that an accident!"
Trent squared his shoulders with the priggish, dogmatic air that his family disliked in him. "I can quite understand that my mother doesn't want to get the woman into trouble," he said.
"Don't preach at me, sir!" would have relieved James's mind, but it would also have been to admit himself in the wrong. He drove back the tempting phrase.
"Your mother never wants to get anyone into trouble—that's not the point," he retorted. "The point is"—he spoke with a vague, oppressive sense of repetition—"that I am in possession of some valuable information about one of the managers—and I am asked to become an accessory to at least one crime, possibly to a number, by ignoring it!"
Trent laughed.
"Well, what should we be doing but acquiescing in deceit and dishonesty?" James was furious.
Trent told himself that his father was showing signs of age. He was behaving absurdly, a thing he did not often do. Trent was not offended or frightened by this ridiculous conduct because he felt himself safe on ground where his judgment could not be challenged. Trent had received an education which enabled him to know when a thing was honourable and when it wasn't. He felt perfectly sure of himself.