Murkard lay where he was, trying to pull his thoughts together. This was the last straw. He saw all the plans he had formed, all the honourable future he had built up for himself, shattered at one blow. His past had risen and struck him in the face. What was to be done now? Could he trust this man whom he had always known to be unfaithful? He had no option—no option at all. He must go away, or Ellison would discover everything, and then all would be irretrievably lost.
And so the afternoon wore on. The sun sank lower and lower, until he disappeared entirely beneath the horizon. As he sank from view, Murkard made up his mind and rose to his feet. Merton was coming back along the beach. He signalled to him, and they passed together into the shelter of the trees that ran down to the shore. Once there, Murkard turned on him.
"I have been thinking over what you said to me just now."
The other bowed and smiled.
"And with what result?"
"I don't quite know. First and foremost I want you to tell me, in the event of my declining to leave the island, what you will tell my friend about me?"
"Shall I really tell you? You mean it? Very well, then, I will. I'm not going to let you know how I became aware of things—you must guess that for yourself."
"Not so many words. Answer my question."
"In the first place, answer me this: Who is your friend? He calls himself Cuthbert Ellison, but who is he?"
Murkard looked away. This was what he had dreaded.