Macheson shook his head.
“No!” he said. “I think that you had better let me pass.”
“Not yet,” Hurd answered. “Look here! You’ve been in communication with the man who came here and murdered my father. You know where he is.”
“Scarcely that, was it?” Macheson answered. “There was a struggle, but your father’s death was partly owing to other causes. However, I did not come here to discuss that with you. I came to ask you a question, which you have answered. If you will permit me to pass I shall be obliged.”
Hurd hesitated for a moment.
“Look here,” he said, with an assumption of good nature, “there’s no reason why you and I should quarrel. I want to know who put you up to asking me that question. It isn’t that I want to do him any harm. I’ll guarantee his safety, if you like, so far as I am concerned. Only I’m anxious to meet him.”
Macheson shook his head.
“I do not know where he is myself,” he answered. “In any case, I could not give you any information.”
Stephen Hurd stood squarely in front of the door.
“You’ll have to,” he said doggedly. “That’s all there is about it.”