"You choose a queer hour of the day for your exercise."
"One might say the same for your ride. But let us be sensible. I dare say there's some common platform on which we both may stand."
"We'll assume it," I replied, dismounting by the roadside that I might talk more easily. Bandages were still visible at his wrists, and a strip of court-plaster across the knuckles of his right hand otherwise testified to the edges of the glass in St. Agatha's garden. He held up his hands ruefully.
"Those were nasty slashes; and I ripped them up badly in climbing out of your window. But I couldn't linger: I am not without my little occupations."
"You stand as excellent chance of being shot if you don't clear out of this. If there's any shame in you you will go without making further trouble."
"It has occurred to me," he began slowly, "that I know something that you ought to know. I saw Henry Holbrook yesterday."
"Where?" I demanded.
"On the lake. He's rented a sloop yacht called the Stiletto. I passed it yesterday on the Annandale steamer and I saw him quite distinctly."
"It's all your fault that he's here!" I blurted, thoroughly aroused. "If you had not followed those women they might have spent the remainder of their lives here and never have been molested. But he undoubtedly caught the trail from you."
Gillespie nodded gravely and frowned before he answered.