“I am afraid there are some things about this double mystery which will never be solved,” admitted Frank. “For instance, the identity of the man who fell into the river.”
“We’ll be dead lucky if we do not have trouble over that affair,” said Hodge.
“How do you mean?”
“Some fool is liable to swear out a warrant charging us with throwing the unknown overboard.”
“I thought of that,” nodded Frank, “and that is why I took occasion on the train to straighten out your story somewhat. It is always best, Bart, to stick to the straight truth.”
Hodge flushed and looked resentful, but plainly sought to repress his feelings, as he said:
“I am not the only person in the world who believes the truth should not be spoken at all times.”
“If one cannot speak the truth,” said Merry, quietly, “he had better remain silent and say nothing at all, particularly in a case like this. There is an old saying that ‘the truth can afford to travel slowly, but a lie must be on the jump all the time, or it will get caught.’”
“Well, I don’t think this is any time to moralize,” came a bit sharply from Bart. “If we were to go into an argument, I rather think I could show logically that a white lie is sometimes more commendable than the truth.”
“In shielding another, possibly,” admitted Merry; “but never in shielding the one who tells it. The more a person lies, the more he has to lie, for it becomes necessary to tell one falsehood to cover up another, and, after a while, the unfortunate individual finds himself so ensnared in a network of fabrications that it is impossible for him to clear himself. Then disaster comes.”