“You sent for me, I think,—gentlemen—” hesitated Laurie, still standing near the doorway.
Sevier bustled forward, led him in and closed the door. “Yes, yes, certainly. It was mighty good of you to come. Your friend is here already, you see.”
“I didn’t send for you. What did you come here for?” demanded Elliott, his mind becoming clouded with suspicions.
“It was this gentleman,” said the missionary, indicating Carlton with evident distrust. “He ordered me to come here—in terms that I could not well refuse. What do you want me to do?”
“Very little, and nothing hard,” Sevier answered, brightly. He brought another chair from an adjoining room, and placed it beside the table. “Sit down. Will you have a drink? No? Well, we merely want you to tell us what you know of the wreck of the Clara McClay.”
Laurie was trembling visibly. “I told you this morning what I know. Do you want me to go over it again?”
“Oh, no. Not that. We want to know where the wreck lies.”
“I told you that I know no more about it than you do,” protested the missionary. “How could I, when I was always in my cabin till she struck, and then adrift in an open boat for a week?”
“That won’t do!” broke in Carlton, stonily. “Out with it!”
“My dear sir, don’t be unreasonable,” Laurie pleaded. “How can I tell you things I know nothing of?”