John remained in the saloon, waiting in some impatience for his brother’s return. It was some time before Carlyon rejoined him, and when he did it was to say, “Really, John, you are as foolish as Nicky! Must you take up the cudgels in my defence quite so violently?”
“Never mind that!” said John. “I can’t stand those playacting ways of his and never could! What did you think of him?”
“Nothing very much.”
“Well, by God, I didn’t believe what you were saying to me, but I’ll swear the man’s in the devil of a pucker! I wondered to hear you give him such a hint of what you suspect!”
“I wanted to see what the effect of it might be on him. I cannot be said to have got much good by it.”
“I think he was frightened.”
“Very well. That can do no harm. If he himself has no suspicion I have told him nothing. If, as I think might well be, he has reason to think that Francis Cheviot might be up to some mischief I hope I may have pricked him into taking the matter into his own hands. I should be glad to see it out of mine!”
“Did you believe his story of having learned of Eustace’s death from his valet?”
Carlyon shrugged. “It might be. No, I don’t think I did.”
John looked dissatisfied. “Well! And what had he to say to you abovestairs? You were long enough away!”