Stornaway’s restless eyes shifted. “You want me to take you to the cavern?” he said mechanically, as though he were thinking of something else.
“Yes,” John replied.
There was another pause. Stornaway looked up quickly, and away again. “Not now! I am unwell—I cannot go out into the night air! I won’t do that! I have the sore throat. I caught cold in that place!”
“In the morning,” John said. “We will ride there together.”
“In the morning. . . . How can I know that you are not leading me into a trap?”
“You will lead, not I.”
“Yes, but . . .”
“I give you my word,” John said deliberately, “that if you deal honestly with me I will bring you off safely.”
“I’ll take you there.” Stornaway’s face twitched. He added, with another fleeting look up at John: “Coate must not know, of course. But he does not rise early in the morning. When—when should we go?”
“When you wish.”