Geoffrey took it from his hand and put it back in the table drawer.
"And now let us talk," he said.
An extraordinary look of relief crossed the doctor's face; the whole man seemed to brighten to the eye.
"I hardly dared hope you would trust me," he said, "and your affection for your friend must have been strong. But let us waste no more time. Yes, your suspicions were quite correct. Harry Vail has no bitterer enemy than his uncle. He has made no less than three attempts to put him out of the way."
"You speak as if you were sure of it," said Geoffrey.
"I am; but what evidence have we? It would not take a barrister ten minutes to tear it to shreds, for it is entirely circumstantial, and weak at that. There is the devilish cunning of the man. Again, if we are to save Harry, we must save him in spite of himself, for he believes not a word of it, and we deal with a man who is cunning and utterly unscrupulous—far more cunning, probably, than you and I put together. But we have one great advantage over him."
"What is that?" asked Geoffrey.
"The fact that he counts on me to be his accomplice. If we succeed, I am to have ten thousand pounds."
At these words, distrust again flared high in Geoffrey's mind, refusing to be darkened—a beacon.
"God give you your portion in hell," he cried, "if you are playing a double game!"