Imbrie thought better to obey. Stonor bound his wrists firmly together. He then led Imbrie a hundred yards from their camp, and, making him sit in the grass, tied his ankles and invited him to meditate.
“I’ll get square with you for this, old man!” snarled Imbrie. “You had no right to tie me up!”
“I didn’t like the style of your conversation,” said Stonor coolly.
“You’re damn right, you didn’t! You snivelling preacher! You snooper after other men’s wives! Oh, I’ve got you where I want you now! Any charge you bring against me will look foolish when I tell them——”
“Tell them what?”
“Tell them you’re after her!”
Stonor walked away and left the man.
Clare still stood in the same place like a carven woman. She waited for him with wide, harassed eyes. As he came to her she said simply:
“This is worse than I expected.”
“The man is not right in his head!” said Stonor. “There is something queer. Don’t pay any attention to him. Don’t think of him.”