Ian made a gesture of dissent.
"Frankness is brutal," he said hastily. "It leaves rancor ... and I want to be fair."
"I suppose you despise me for letting Roman take my place, last night," said Joseph bitterly.
Ian was silent. The other watched his face, but could read little there; his own had flushed.
"It's easy to talk here." He glanced round the comfortable room. "But it was infernally hard to die, like that, and so easy for Roman to get past. He had brought tools with him."
"Yes," said Ian. "He unpicked the lock.... But there was..."
"There was what?"
"Oh, nothing." A sudden wave of passion was coming over him. He could trust himself no longer. He felt that, unless he escaped from the room he would hurl all the bitterness of his soul against Joseph, expose his deep wound to that cold gaze. He made for the door.
"Stop!" said the other peremptorily. He looked back, his hand on the door.
"Sleep on it," he muttered and would have passed out, but Joseph was beside him, his sound hand grasping his shoulder.