He sat silent.
"You 've become mighty close-mouthed all at once," I sharply urged.
He gave me a little half-smile, and glanced away.
"By advice of counsel I refuse to talk," said he, quietly.
"If you are the counsel, you have a fool for a client—and vice versa," I retorted. "I suppose, too, that you refuse any assistance that I—"
Instantly his assumed indifference vanished.
"By no means," stopping me with considerable warmth. "If there 's any way out of this rotten mess it's you that must get me out. My hands are literally tied, now. And—Swift," he hesitated; his face clouded and his voice suddenly dropped, "I—I simply can't say anything more, old chap."
"So," I quietly observed, "you too are worried about Fluette."
He started as if stung.
"My God, Swift!" he began, and stopped. He sat staring at me a moment in utter dismay, then his disturbed look wandered to a window.