Stonor, thinking of Clare, could have struck him for it. With an effort he swallowed his rage. “Did you never have any visitors?” he asked coolly.
Imbrie favoured him with a lightning glance. “What put that idea into your head?”
Stonor lied in the good cause. “One of the Indians said you had a visitor.”
“When?”
“Just a few days before we went down.”
“What kind of visitor?”
“A man much like yourself,” said Stonor.
Imbrie lost his grin for the moment. “It’s a lie,” he said thickly.
“Oh, well, it’s no crime to have a visitor,” said Stonor smoothly.
Imbrie saw his mistake, and quickly commanded himself. He laughed easily. “Just my way,” he said. “I’m cracked on the subject of living alone.”