His speech and his manner were decidedly irritating. I had made a firm resolve to keep my temper, no matter what the result of this interview might be, but I could not help answering rather sharply.
“I had no intention of following you—here or anywhere else,” I said. “Your action and whereabouts, generally speaking, are of no particular interest to me. I did not follow you to Paris, Doctor Bayliss.”
He reddened and hesitated. Then he led the way to a divan in a retired corner of the lobby and motioned to me to be seated. There he sat down beside me and waited for me to speak. I, in turn, waited for him to speak.
At last he spoke.
“I'm sorry, Knowles,” he said. “I am not myself today. I've had a devil of a night and I feel like a beast this morning. I should probably have insulted my own father, had he appeared suddenly, as you did. Of course I should have known you did not follow me to Paris. But—but why did you come?”
I hesitated now. “I came,” I said, “to—to—Well, to be perfectly honest with you, I came because of something I heard concerning—concerning—”
He interrupted me. “Then Heathcroft did tell you!” he exclaimed. “I thought as much.”
“He told you, I know. He said he did.”
“Yes. He did. My God, man, isn't it awful! Have you seen her?”
His manner convinced me that he had seen her. In my eagerness I forgot to be careful.