"I thought — thought we could get them — later," was Stuart's evasive answer. "After we had talked together."
Stuart nodded.
"Where are they, then?" questioned the old man.
Stuart pretended a recurrence of his stupor.
"Did you leave them in Baltimore?" came the question. "At the Burnham House?" Again Stuart nodded.
"You still have your room there — going back tonight. Is that the idea?"
"Yes," answered Stuart.
"Very well," said the old man quietly. "We can get them tomorrow, after we have discussed this matter. You must stay here tonight. You are in no condition to leave."
That ended the conversation for the time, and Stuart, nodding drowsily in his chair, congratulated himself upon the way in which he had turned the conversation.
He felt that he was better off as Powell, under the present circumstances. As Stuart Bruxton, he would be an intruder here; and he had a strong suspicion that intruders as well as expected visitors could find sudden death upon this sinister isle.