He regarded me with the same intent stare.
“Knowles,” he said, suddenly, “she is at the home of a relative of hers—Cripps is the name—in Leatherhead, England. There! I have told you. Why I should be such a fool I don't know. And now you will go there, I suppose. What?”
“No,” I answered. “No. I thank you for telling me, Bayliss, but it shall make no difference. I will respect her wish. I will not go there.”
“You won't!”
“No, I will not trouble her again.”
To my surprise he laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh, there was more sarcasm than mirth in it, or so it seemed, but why he should laugh at all I could not understand.
“Knowles,” he said, “you're a good fellow, but—”
“But what?” I asked, stiffly.
“You're no end of a silly ass in some ways. Good night.”
He turned on his heel and walked off.