“Have I to thank you for a very unpleasant rumor which is afloat with regard to me in my club?”
“You must explain yourself. I do not understand.”
“It is this. It is known in the club that I signed a post obit a fortnight before the death of my little cousin.”
Tarbot slightly shifted his position.
“I did not know that the rumor had got afloat,” he said. “I am certainly innocent of propagating it. But are you sure it is known?”
“Yes. I was first told of it by Carroll, whom I met at the hotel at Glion, where my wife and I stayed. He begged me to return to London as quickly as possible in order to contradict the gossip which was afloat. I did come back, and I find on my arrival that matters are even more unpleasant than I had believed possible.”
Tarbot laughed.
“How the rumor got about is more than I can tell you,” he replied. “I can only assure you once more that I am not responsible. I should naturally wish to hide a matter in which I myself am implicated. You understand, Pelham, that it affects me as much as you. My advice to you is this: don’t take the slightest notice. Live it down—there is nothing in it.”
“It is unpleasant and undesirable,” said Dick, “and the man who has caused it to be spread is my enemy.”
“Then find him,” said Tarbot lightly. “Find him, and vent your spleen upon him. Will you change your mind and have a cigar? I can recommend this brand.”