So Leon was compelled to reluctantly abandon the intended smoke, although he did so grumblingly.
“What makes you so positive that Renwood meant to throw the game?” asked Don, with mingled eagerness and doubt. “He couldn’t do such a thing all by himself.”
“Not unless it happened to be close and he found a good chance. But I know that’s what he’d done, just the same.”
“How do you know it?”
“Oh, I have a way of keeping my eyes and ears open,” wisely asserted Leon, piling his feet upon the doctor’s desk in the midst of the papers.
“Then you saw something?—you heard something?”
“I should say I did.”
It was impossible for Don to repress his eagerness. Leon’s free-and-easy manner annoyed him, but he greatly wished to know just what the fellow had seen and heard that made him so absolutely positive of Renwood’s treachery.
Don forgot for the time, at least, that only a few days before he had told Leon that he wished to have nothing further to do with a fellow of his sort. Having again admitted the foxy young rascal to his home, having apparently accepted him once more as a friend, his greatest desire seemed to be to learn the full extent of the accusation Bentley could make against Renwood.
Leon saw this. At first he had been somewhat surprised by Don’s readiness to take him back on the old footing without a show of continued resentment and anger, and he had anticipated that he would have to whet Scott’s appetite by hinting at the queer things he could tell him about the game at Highland. Already devoured by curiosity and a longing to know the full particulars of the affair, Don had welcomed Leon almost with open arms, and Bentley believed friendly relations between them had been re-established.