We had been walking about the room during this conversation, and at this point had come to an alcove where Mrs. Knapp motioned me to a seat.
“I may not get a chance to talk with you alone again this evening,” she continued, dropping her half-bantering tone, “and you come so little now. What are you doing?”
“Keeping out of mischief.”
“Yes, but how?” she persisted. “You used to tell me everything. Now you tell me nothing.”
“Mr. Knapp's work—” I began.
“Oh, of course I don't expect you to tell me about that. I know Mr. Knapp, and you're as close-mouthed as he, even when he's away.”
“I should tell you anything of my own, but, of course, another's—”
“I understand.” Mrs. Knapp, sitting with hands clasped in her lap, gave me a quick look. “But there was something else. You were telling me about your adventures, you remember. You told me two or three weeks ago about the way you tricked Darby Meeker and sent him to Sierra City.” And she smiled at the recollection of Darby Meeker's discomfiture.
“Oh, yes,” I said, with a laugh that sounded distressingly hollow to my ears. “That was a capital joke on Meeker.”
Here was a fine pack of predicaments loosed on my trail. It was with an effort that I kept my countenance, and the cold sweat started on my forehead. How much had Henry told of his business? Had he touched on it lightly, humorously, or had he given a full account of his adventures to the wife of the man with whose secrets he was concerned, and whose evil plans had brought him to his death? The questions flashed through my mind in the instant that followed Mrs. Knapp's speech.