“I do trust you.”
“I am afraid you ask too many questions for absolute trust,” said the poet dryly, relighting his pipe.
“I will ask you no more—save one.”
“Well?”
“Is Caliphronas to be trusted?”
“As long as I am with you, yes.”
“Ah, you have some power over him?”
“Now you are asking questions again.”
“I beg your pardon; but do tell me about Caliphronas!”
Crispin paused for a moment, as if to consider how he would reply to this remark.