"Sit down," said Converse, pleasantly, shoving a chair toward the young man. "I am glad to see you, Mr. Clay Fairchild."
"I don't doubt it," was the dry, drawling response. Nevertheless he accepted the tendered chair, and waited.
"Yes; I'm glad to see you, young man; perhaps, after all, you'll do." The Captain was not displeased at Fairchild's self-possession and apparent determination to remain non-committal.
"Thanks. Is it permissible to inquire what particular purpose you think I may serve?"
The inquiry was ignored. Converse sat quietly appraising the young man; and at last he abruptly said:
"Would you like to go home?"
"I! Go home!" his amazement was extreme. "Do you mean that I'm not wanted?"
"Not here, at any rate. But I'll have to lock you up, whether or no, if I can't count on your keeping yourself out of view a while longer. I'm half inclined to think I did wrong in stirring you from your hiding-place."
Fairchild gasped.
"Some explanation is due you, however," the other went on calmly; "but I have neither time nor inclination to go into it. Your sister—"