“If there is one thing that I like more than another about you,” he said in his slow, distinct English, “it is that continual guard which you hold up. In my experience I have found that the man who consistently denies having special knowledge never betrays himself.”
Kenyon was suddenly called upon to struggle against an almost irresistible desire to laugh; it was a difficult task, but he succeeded in retaining his gravity. The thing was really absurd!
“Has he said anything about what his plans are, now that the old man is dead?” inquired Farbush, eagerly.
Kenyon never quite understood what prompted him to do it, but under a sudden impulse, he answered:
“He does not know that the old man is dead.”
Had a thunderbolt split the roof and dashed everything in the room into splinters it could not have had a more startling effect upon the two men who sat facing him. Instantly they were upon their feet, their hands wildly gesticulating, their lips babbling in amazement.
“Why,” almost shouted Farbush, beating the table, “I never dreamed of such luck. It’s like a miracle.”
Their sudden outbreak had dismayed Kenyon; for a moment he feared that he had somehow betrayed himself. But at the words of Farbush, he drew a breath of relief.
“Luck’s with me!” he thought. “But in the future I’ll refrain from taking chances.”
“I would have thought that your very appearance would have told him all,” spoke Hong Yo.