"They weren't so much to blame. A man was murdered in the Rockies who called himself Hardross Courage, and who was travelling with my traps. Only you see it wasn't I!"
"A man who called himself Hardross Courage," Gilbert repeated, bewildered. "It's an uncommon name."
"The men who killed him," I answered, "thought that they had killed me. It's a long story, Gilbert. I've come here to tell you a little of it, if you can spare the time."
"Time! Of course I can," he declared. "Wait one moment while I go to the telephone."
I checked him on the way to the door.
"Not a word of this to any one, Gilbert," I said. "Not even to Groves there!"
He nodded and hurried out of the room. When he returned, he had taken off his hat and overcoat. He drew up two easy-chairs and produced a box of cigars.
"Now then!" he exclaimed, "for the mysteries! By Jove, I'm glad to see you, Hardross! Light one of those—they're the old sort—-and go ahead."
"You're not a nervous person, are you, Gilbert?" I asked quietly.
"I don't think so," he answered. "You've given my nerves a pretty good test just now, I think! Why do you ask?"