“All you thought and did was very natural, sir,” Prescott answered quietly. “I tried not to blame you and I feel no resentment.”
“What’s this?” Cyril glanced up sharply, and as he noticed the guilty faces of the others and Gertrude’s strained expression, the truth dawned on him.
“Oh!” he cried, “it’s preposterous! You all suspected my best friend!”
“If it’s any consolation, we’re very much ashamed of it,” Colston replied. “And there was one exception; Muriel never shared our views.”
Cyril still looked disturbed.
“Its obvious that I’ve given everybody a good deal of trouble, but I feel that you deserved it for your foolishness. May I ask on what grounds you suspected Jack?”
Seeing that none of them was ready to answer, Prescott interposed.
“Perhaps I had better explain; I think you ought to know.”
He related the events that had followed his friend’s disappearance, and when he had finished, Cyril turned to the others.
“After all, you were not so much to blame as I thought at first—you don’t know Jack as I do, and things undoubtedly looked bad. Now I’ll give you an account of my adventures and clear up the mystery.”