“Nothing.”
There was a long and obstinate silence. The two men were at loggerheads, and neither would make the first move.
“You seem very thick with Trewhella,” said Kangaroo at last.
“Not thick,” said Richard, “Celts—Cornish, Irish—they always interest me. What do you imagine is at the bottom of Jaz?”
“Treachery.”
“Oh, not only,” laughed Somers.
“Then why do you ask me, if you know better?”
“Because I don’t really get to the bottom of him.”
“There is no bottom to get to—he’s the instinctive traitor, as they all are.”
“Oh, surely not only that.”