“Eric, I am in trouble,” he said.
The other knew it before he spoke.
To himself he was saying:
“Now, here’s a surprising thing—I am already retained by the wife, and the husband has come to confess his sins. Shall I listen—he must not bind me to a promise not to tell.”
Aloud, he said:
“I’m sorry for that, Joe. Tell me all about it and heaven knows I will aid you all I can.”
“Thank you, old friend—I knew it before you spoke—that was why I finally determined to come here and unbosom myself.”
“It’s coming,” muttered Darrell, smiling grimly.
He fully expected to learn the secret of that mysterious house on Twenty-seventh Street.
“To think,” said Joe, looking around him at the walls and ceiling, “that here in this den where I spent so many careless, happy bachelor hours with you, I should now be detailing the tribulations of married life.”