Jack looked at me in a puzzled way.
“Wants you to tell me his story?” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He has a reason. I think you had better hear it, Jack.”
Jack was no fool. He had wits enough to tell him by this time that in all this mysterious blundering talk of mine there was after all something more serious than commonplace tittle-tattle. My face and tone must have proved it, if nothing else did.
He remained leaning out of the window by my side as I told him that story in words as near those of Mr Smith himself as I could recall.
He interrupted me by no starts or exclamations, but remained silent, with his head on his hands, till the very end.
Indeed, he was so still after it was all told that for a moment I felt uneasy, lest he was taken ill.
But presently he looked up, with his face very pale, and said, “I can scarcely believe it, Fred.”