"If you think it best, certainly tell him. Only swear him to secrecy."
"Certainly. And I'm sure the man himself will see the point in that. But you see if I didn't tell him who you really were, he'd very likely put you down as a suspicious character and recommend your removal."
"You're quite right," I agreed.
"Besides what you know may help him, and it would be a dog in the manger kind of game to keep back anything, now that he has taken up the business."
"Right again. Well, I'll keep my nose out of the business till Bolton has had his innings."
"Good man!" said Jack. "Well, we'd better separate now. Good luck to you both!"
I trust I am not of an unduly jealous disposition, but being thus asked to take a back seat just as something really definite had happened was a strain on my philosophy. The tragedy of the Uruguay might not have anything to do with the secret agency in the island—though I felt in my bones it had, and Mr. Bolton might come and go and leave me possibly with a little information to help my own quest. Still, it was annoying.
At the same time, my cousin's arguments were absolutely sound and I saw perfectly that it would have been both foolish and ungenerous to play Hobhouse with the man. So I went back and picked up a novel and tried to dismiss the whole business from my mind in the meantime.
For the next twenty-four hours the island was full of gruesome stories and the wildest rumours, but for most of the time Mr. Hobhouse stayed at home and finished his novel. It was on the evening of the day after the tragedy, when the doctor and he were sitting over the smoking room fire, lighting their pipes after tea, that the bell rang. "Hallo, who's that at this hour?" said the doctor.
I heard a heavy footstep in the passage, and guessed, but the only announcement was that a gentleman wished to see Dr. Rendall. He was out of the room for a long time, nearly an hour by the clock, and when he came back his manner was serious and a little apologetic.