There was a long silence. The host sat back again, swung one foot over the other impatiently, and at last turned upon his silent companion.
"Go on!" he cried. "Out with it! I know what you want to say!"
Monteith slowly turned his eyes from the fire and looked into his host's face.
"I don't want to say anything disagreeable, Captain," he said courteously.
Captain Herbert arose and walked to the window.
"I knew this would come some day, when I saw you were getting so infernally chummy with all the MacDonald clan. That dear friend of mine, old Firebrand Malcolm, has been telling you tales, I see."
"On the contrary, he has scarcely ever mentioned your name to me. Big Malcolm is not that sort," said Monteith, with some dignity. "But it was impossible for me not to remember Ralph Stanwell, Senior; it all came to me the moment the boy told me his name."
There was a moment of intense silence, and at last the man turned from the window.
"Well," he said, coming to the fireside, "why don't you speak? What have you got to say about it?" His manner was half-defiant.
"I don't know that you'll think it's my place to say anything, Captain. But—well, since you ask my opinion, I must confess that, though I am not in possession of all the facts, the thing does not look exactly—straight."