“I suppose so; he was headed that way when I turned back.”
Carfax waited again, and when nothing further was forthcoming: “It’s a remarkably beautiful night, isn’t it? Did you ever see a handsomer moon?”
“Don’t make me talk!” was the irritable rejoinder. “You’ll be sorry for it if you do.”
“Try me and see.”
“Well, then—if you will have it: there was a witness to our little comedy out there under the derrick.”
“Some one who came with Hartridge?”
“I guess so. Some one who went back with him, at any rate.”
“Who was it?”
“I hate to tell you, Poictiers. It was—it was the woman you are going to marry; Richardia Birrell.”
Carfax laughed softly.