When Garrod came close enough to be heard he stammered, avoiding Jack's eyes: "I—I want to talk to you, Malcolm."
"Put down the gun," said Jack coolly. "Out of reach."
Garrod immediately laid it on the stones. "You don't think that I——" he mumbled.
"I don't think anything," said Jack, "but I'm taking no chances."
Garrod's eyes strayed everywhere, and his voice maundered. "I suppose you think I'm an utter cur. I know it looks bad. But not that—— Maybe you think that I—your horse—on the cliff——"
"I'm not accusing you," said Jack.
Garrod sat down near him. "I—want to talk to you," he said, forgetting that he had said it before.
"All that you and I have to say to each other can be put in one question and answer," said Jack. "Are you going to square me?"
"I—I'd like to," stammered Garrod.
Jack looked up surprised. There was more in the answer than he had expected. "You will?" he cried, bright-eyed. "You've come to tell me that! By Gad! that would be a plucky thing to do after all these years. I didn't think you had it in you!"