“Do you mean to say that you knew nothing of this, Mrs. Eyre?” he said, the wonder in his face answering the bewilderment in hers. “Didn’t Banneker tell you?”
“Never a word.”
“No; I suppose he wouldn’t,” ruminated the veteran. “That would be like Ban—the old Ban,” he added sadly. “Mrs. Eyre, I loved that boy,” he broke out, his stern and somber face working. “There are times even now when I can scarcely make myself believe that he did what he did.”
“Wait,” pleaded Io. “How did he stop The Searchlight?”
“By threatening Bussey with an exposé that would have blown him out of the water. Blackmail, if you like, Mrs. Eyre, and not of the most polite kind.”
“For me,” whispered Io.
“He held that old carrion-buzzard, Bussey, up at the muzzle of The Patriot as if it were a blunderbuss. It was loaded to kill, too. And then,” pursued Edmonds, “he paid the price. Marrineal got out his little gun and held him up.”
“Held Ban up? What for? How could he do that? All this is a riddle to me, Mr. Edmonds.”
“Do you think you really want to know?” asked the other with a touch of grimness. “It won’t be pleasant hearing.”
“I’ve got to know. Everything!”