Saunders grinned pleasantly, but still suspiciously, as he answered. "I can't say the same of you, Mr. Griffin. I knew you would be here when I returned; fact is, I came back to see you."
"Me? How could I cart books all over the world with me? What do you want to see me for? No, no. I am bad material for you to work on. Better go back to the Padre. He's what you call an 'easy mark,' isn't he?"
"Oh, he's not so easy as you think, Griffin. By the way, have you lunched?"
"No."
"You will join me then?"
"Thanks; I will."
"We can get into a corner and talk undisturbed."
But lunch was disposed of before Saunders began. When he did, it was right in the middle of things.
"Griffin," he said, leaning over the table and looking straight at Mark, "Griffin, what's your game? Let's have this thing out."
"I am afraid, Saunders," replied Mark, "that I must take refuge again in the picturesque slang which the Padre thinks so expressive: I really don't get you."