“Look here,” he said. “I owe you this at any rate. I have just caught our friend here watching this house. Have you ever seen him before?”
Hurd looked down into the face of the man who, with an evil shrug of the shoulders, had resigned himself—for the present—to the inevitable.
“Never,” he answered. “Can’t say I’m particularly anxious to see him again. Convert of yours?” he asked, with a sneer.
“He is the man who visited your father on the night of his death,” Macheson said.
Stephen Hurd was like a man electrified. He seized hold of the other’s arm in excitement.
“Is this true?” he demanded.
The man blinked his eyes.
“You have to prove it,” he said. “I admit nothing.”
“You can leave him to me,” Stephen Hurd said, turning to Macheson.