They had to spell at short intervals during the day, for Stonor’s horse was growing very tired. Whenever they halted they began to fence with words in much the same way, each trying to discover the other’s weak joint without letting down his own guard. It seemed to Stonor that, under his cynical insolence, his prisoner was growing ever more anxious.
On one occasion Imbrie said with a careless air: “Did you see the big falls when you were down the river?”
“No,” said Stonor instantly.
“Very fine sight.”
It occurred to Stonor that a certain amount of curiosity on his part would appear natural. “What are they like?”
Imbrie looked at him through slightly narrowed lids. “Big horse-shoe effect. The water falls all around in a sort of half-circle, and there are tremendous rocks below. The water falls on the rocks.”
This description sounded purposely misleading. The place, of course, was not like that at all. Stonor thought: “What does he tell me that for? Living there all that time, it isn’t possible he hasn’t seen the falls. In his diary he mentioned going there.” Suddenly the explanation came to him. “I know! He’s trying to tempt me to call him a liar, and then he’ll know I’ve been there.”
“Must be great!” he said offhand.
During the last spell Imbrie slept part of the time. Stonor dared not close his eyes, though he needed sleep sorely. He sat smoking and watching Imbrie, trying to speculate on what lay behind that smooth, comely mask.
“It’s like a book I read once,” he thought. “A man had two natures in him, one good, one bad. At one time the good nature would have the upper hand; at another time the bad. He was like two entirely different people. A case of double personality, they called it. It must be something like that with this man. Clare married the good man in him, and the bad turned up later. No doubt that was why she left him. Then the good man reappeared, and she felt she had done him a wrong. It explains everything.”