Again the quaint smile flitted across the face of the man who had always contrived to tell less than the sum total of all he knew.
“Once again, Mr. Tregarvon, you are going into the question of motives, which is a very large field, indeed. Let us say that I wished to make a diversion of some sort. Will that satisfy you?”
“No,” was the blunt reply.
“I am sorry; I am afraid it will have to suffice for the present.”
Tregarvon’s head was throbbing so painfully that he found it next to impossible to think clearly. But he would not desist.
“Hartridge, it has come to a show-down between us. I’m giving you fair warning. Once I did you an injustice—or thought I did—but this time you’ve given yourself away. When I get up and around again, I’m going to sift this thing to the ultimate bottom and somebody will be made to sweat blood for what has been done to-night. As matters stand now, you seem to be the man the officers will want first.”
Once more the professor smiled. “And yet you can’t say that I have ever wittingly done anything to harm you,” he offered mildly.
“That remains to be proved,” was the angry retort. “Meaning to, or not meaning to, you fired that dynamite a little while back; and you certainly have never strained yourself in any effort to help me. You knew that this big vein was here—you have known it all along!”
“This time you are not my guest, Mr. Tregarvon, and I may contradict you without blame. I did not know it.”
“Then why did you carve the Greek letter pi on those two oak-trees below the glade? Or do you deny that, as well?”