Willy Cameron got up and closed the window. He stood there, with his back to the light, for a full minute. Then:
“I think there must be some mistake about that, Mr. Hendricks. I have met her. She isn't the sort of girl who would do clandestine things.”
Mr. Hendricks looked up quickly. He had made it his business to study men, and there was something in Willy Cameron's voice that caught his attention, and turned his shrewd mind to speculation.
“Maybe,” he conceded. “Of course, anything a Cardew does is likely to be magnified in this town. If she's as keen as the men in her family, she'll get wise to him pretty soon.” Willy Cameron came back then, but Mr. Hendricks kept his eyes on the tip of his cigar.
“We've got to lick Cardew,” he said, “but I'm cursed if I want to do it with Akers.”
When there was no comment, he looked up. Yes, the boy had had a blow. Mr. Hendricks was sorry. If that was the way the wind blew it was hopeless. It was more than that; it was tragic.
“Sorry I said anything, Cameron. Didn't know you knew her.”
“That's all right. Of course I don't like to think she is being talked about.”
“The Cardews are always being talked about. You couldn't drop her a hint, I suppose?”
“She knows what I think about Louis Akers.”