He finished, threw the paper back to the other and pulled at his pipe.
“‘In my head,’” he repeated, softly knuckling the table. “Who, when you showed him the letter, half-read the riddle in those words, and egged you on to renew the search? Whose prognostications were verified in that which was overheard by our friend the innkeeper?”
“I grant you can see further into a haystack than the most of us.”
“You do, do you? Then what’s your complaint?”
“That you undermine me in the favour of my fellows, by God!—that you assume the leadership and work first and foremost to your own advancement.”
“Have I misrepresented you in giving that gentleman-scamp his last warning?”
“No.”
“In concealing from him the truth of the girl’s throwing herself into our hands?”
“No.”
“You would have blundered in all this. You have the hoofs and horns of a bullock, and they are your one appeal and resource. Take the fighting to yourself and leave the diplomacy to your betters.”