I was in a dreadful plight. Every one must have seen by my confusion that I was in a fix, and how was I to get out of it?
“Eh, what about his father?” demanded Doubleday.
“Oh,” said I, “he’s living abroad.”
“Where, Botany Bay?” asked Daly, with a laugh.
I felt my face grow scarlet, and my whole manner utterly confused and guilty-looking, as I pretended not to hear the question, and turned to speak to Crow about some other matter. But my assailants were too quick for me. My manner had roused their curiosity and excited their suspicions, and I was not to be let off.
“Eh? Is that where he resides?” again demanded Daly.
“I really can’t say where he lives,” I replied, abruptly, and in a tone so unlike my ordinary voice that I hardly recognised it myself.
I was conscious of a startled look on the faces of one or two of the company as I said this, and of a low whistle from Crow.
What had I done?
“I don’t think,” said Hawkesbury, with his usual smile, “your friend Smith would be grateful to you, Batchelor, for letting the cat out of the bag like this.”