Phineas sat down in a chair by the desk, and began to drum his soft white fingers on the arm of it. “In view of the — er — very equivocal position in which you stand. Ray, do you feel that you are wise to take up this unhelpful attitude?” he inquired.
Raymond looked contemptuously down at him. “You must think I’m a fool if you imagine I don’t know that you’re quite as anxious to keep my secret as I am myself!” he said. “You’d have to leave the neighbourhood, if that got out, wouldn’t you?”
Phineas went on smiling, but the expression in his eyes was hardly in keeping with the benevolent curl of his lips.
“We won’t go into that. A most unfortunate affair, which we must, I agree, do our utmost to conceal. It was for that reason that I came up to see you today. I must know how matters now stand.”
“They don’t stand in any better shape for this precious visit! Already the others are beginning to smell a rat.”
“Then you must have been singularly clumsy, my dear Ray. I thought I could rely on you to present my call upon your father in satisfactory colours. However, there is no profit in repining now that the mischief is done. I have no intention of inquiring into the circumstances of your father’s untimely death, and I beg you will not seek to take me into your confidence. What is done cannot be undone...”
“It wasn’t done by me,” interrupted Raymond.
Phineas bowed his head in polite acceptance of this statement. “That, as I have said, is a matter in which I do not propose to interest myself. My sole concern is to keep my sister’s name unsullied. To this end I must request you to tell me what steps you have taken in regard to the woman, Martha Bugle?”
Raymond answered curtly: “None.”
Phineas raised his brows. “Indeed! Then may I suggest that you give your serious attention to this question?”