He stopped Shanks and found it a relief to let himself go. The other was cool and hinted darkly that Dick had better leave things alone. He said Dick had nothing to go upon; he had not seen Shanks near the punt, and if he went to the police about it, might get somebody else into trouble. Shanks knew what he knew, and if he were forced would tell. Dick then used tact, scoffing at the other's hints until Shanks abandoned some of his reserve, and when the stormy interview was over Dick went home moodily. The plan he had made of the marks by the punt was accurate, but the line he ought to take not yet plain. Lance was his relation.
In the evening he drove Mrs. Halliday to Dryholm, where Jim and his friends had been asked to dine. They had not arrived, and while Bernard talked to Mrs. Halliday, Dick went to the library to look at a book about sport. When he opened the door Mordaunt was writing and there was a letter, to which he seemed to be replying, on the table. He nodded and went on writing, and Dick was glad he did not want to talk. After a few minutes a car rolled up the drive and when Mordaunt fastened the envelope they heard Jim's party in the hall.
Mordaunt went down stairs and Dick, coming after, saw an envelope on the floor. Imagining Mordaunt had dropped it, he picked it up and frowned as he recognized Evelyn's hand. Mordaunt was talking to Mrs. Winter and Dick did not want to disturb them; besides, he would sooner give Lance the letter when they were alone. Then Bernard beckoned him and before long dinner was served.
Dick did not enjoy the meal. He could hardly rouse himself to talk to Carrie and when she turned to Mordaunt, the latter's careless smile as he began to joke moved him to almost uncontrollable rage. Dick was in a black mood, for the secret he carried had worn his nerves, and he did not like Evelyn's writing to Lance. He was resolved that his sister should have nothing to do with the fellow. When dinner was over he said to Mordaunt, "I'd like to see the gun you bought."
"Very well," said Mordaunt and they went to the gun-room.
The room was small. A glass case, holding guns and fishing rods, ran along one wall; a bench occupied the other. There was a plain table, stained by oil, and a fire burned in a stove with an open front, for the night was damp. A flickering glow played about the walls and shone on the greasy guns. Dick stopped Mordaunt, who put his hand on the electric-light switch.
"Never mind the light," he said, throwing a letter on the table. "You dropped this."
"I did," said Mordaunt, turning to Dick, who leaned against the table. "Imagined I'd put it in my pocket. Thank you for picking it up."
Dick thought it significant that he had not opened the case to get the new gun. Lance's voice was calm but his glance was quick. He seemed to be waiting.
"What was Evelyn writing to you about?" Dick asked.