"Yes," said John. "Most hospitable he was. I can't say I liked him, though."
"No?"
"No. Perhaps what prejudiced me against him was the fact of his having burgled the Hall the night before last."
More and more Mr. Carmody was feeling, as Ronnie Fish had no doubt felt at the concert, that he had been forced into playing a part to which he was not equal. It was obviously in the rôle that at this point he should register astonishment, and he did his best to do so. But the gasp he gave sounded so unconvincing to him that he hastened to supplement his words.
"What! What are you saying? Doctor Twist?"
"Doctor Twist."
"But.... But...!"
"It's come as quite a surprise to you, hasn't it?" said John. And for the first time since this interview had begun Mr. Carmody became alive to the fact that in his nephew's manner there was a subtle something which he did not like, something decidedly odd. This might, of course, simply be due to the circumstance that the young man's chin was bristling with an unsightly growth and his eyes red about the rims. Perhaps it was merely his outward appearance that gave the suggestion of the sinister. But Mr. Carmody did not think so. He noted now that John's eyes, besides being red, were strangely keen. Their expression seemed, to his sensitive conscience, accusing. The young man was looking at him—yes, undoubtedly the young man was looking at him most unpleasantly.
"By the way," said John, "Bolt gave me this ticket yesterday to give to you. I forgot about it till it was too late."
The relatively unimportant question of whether or not there was a peculiar look in his nephew's eyes immediately ceased to vex Mr. Carmody. All he felt at this instant was an almost suffocating elation. He stretched out an unsteady hand.