Macheson raised his eyebrows slightly.
“My question is a simple one,” he said. “If you do not choose to answer it, it is easy for me to procure the information from elsewhere. The first villager I met would tell me. I preferred to come to you.”
“I have no sister,” Hurd said slowly. “I never had. Now you must tell me why you have come here to ask me this.”
“I am told,” Macheson said, “that years ago a girl in Paris represented herself as being your father’s daughter. She is being inquired for in a somewhat mysterious way.”
“And what business is it of yours?” Hurd demanded curtly.
“None—apparently,” Macheson answered. “I am obliged to you for your information. I will not detain you any longer.”
But Stephen Hurd barred the way. Looking into his face, Macheson saw already the signs of a change there. His eyes were a little wild, and though it was early in the morning he smelt of spirits.
“No! you don’t,” he declared truculently. “You’re not going till you tell me what you mean by that question.”
“I am afraid,” Macheson answered, “that I have nothing more to tell you.”
“You will tell me who this mysterious person is,” Hurd declared.