“Thanks,” I said, “but really——”
“It’s only a hint. He’s a splendid young fellow, but if anything—you understand—too honest and simple. I take it you have influence with him, and I should use it.”
“I was not in earnest,” I said. “I have never seen the Dollmanns; I thought they were friends of yours,” I added, looking him straight in the eyes.
“I know them, but”—he shrugged his shoulders—“I know everybody.”
“What’s wrong with them?” I said, point-blank.
“Softly! Herr Carruthers. Remember, I speak out of pure friendliness to you as strangers, foreigners, and young. You I take to have discretion, or I should not have said a word. Still, I will add this. We know very little of Herr Dollmann, of his origin, his antecedents. He is half a Swede, I believe, certainly not a Prussian; came to Norderney three years ago, appears to be rich, and has joined in various commercial undertakings. Little scope about here? Oh, there is more enterprise than you think—development of bathing resorts, you know, speculation in land on these islands. Sharp practice? Oh, no! he’s perfectly straight in that way. But he’s a queer fellow, of eccentric habits, and—and, well, as I say, little is known of him. That’s all, just a warning. Come along.”
I saw that to press him further was useless.
“Thanks; I’ll remember,” I said.
“And look here,” he added, as we walked down the passage, “if you take my advice, you’ll omit that visit to the Medusa altogether.” He gave me a steady look, smiling gravely.
“How much do you know, and what do you mean?” were the questions that throbbed in my thoughts; but I could not utter them, so I said nothing and felt very young.