Gay P., suspecting nothing, left the two men alone. Cayley took a seat on a small table and waited. Granthope lost no time in preliminaries.
"Mr. Cayley," he said, pulling out his watch, "what time does the next train go down the mountain?"
"There's one soon after nine, I believe—why?" Cayley answered.
Granthope looked at him without visible emotion and said nonchalantly, "I think you'd better take it."
A hot flush burned in Cayley's cheeks, and he drew back as if ready either to give or to receive a blow. "Did you come up here to tell me that?" he said harshly.
"I did—that amongst other things."
"Are you trying to pick a quarrel with me? If you are, I think I can accommodate you. Come outside."
"No, I came up here to avoid one. If I had met you anywhere else, I suppose you'd be knocked down, by this time." Granthope's tone was unimpassioned, matter-of-fact.
"This is getting interesting," said Cayley, now as suave as his opponent. "May I ask you to explain?"
"I had a talk with Doctor Masterson this morning. You may not be acquainted with him—he's a friend of Professor Vixley's, whom I believe, you do know."