“Did you tell them personally, or did you write?” pursued Jem Agar relentlessly.
“My dear fellow,” replied Michael, pulling out his watch, “it is a long story, and we must get to the train.”
“No,” replied Agar, in the calm voice which raised a sort of “fearful joy” in Ruthine's soul, “we need not be getting to the train yet, and there is no reason for it to be a long story.”
Seymour Michael gave an uneasy little laugh, which met with no response whatever. The two taller men exchanged a glance over his head. Up to that moment Jem Agar had hoped for the best. He had a greater faith in human nature than Mark Ruthine had managed to retain.
“Have you or have you not told those people whom you swore to me that you would tell, out there, that night?” asked Jem.
“I told your brother,” answered the General with dogged indifference.
“Only?”
There was an ugly gleam in the blue eyes.
“I didn't tell him not to tell the others.”
“But you suggested it to him,” put in Mark Ruthine, with the knowledge of mankind that was his.