“About two miles.”
I resumed my dressing, and simulated a laugh, for it would not do to seem too much impressed with this fol-de-rol. Pendleton maintained his appearance of dead seriousness.
“I wonder if there’s anything else. Oh, yes—his voice.”
“Voice?” My question must have been sharp.
“It’s a young voice and an old voice in one. He’s been heard, Bannerlee.” Pendleton licked his lips. “I’ve heard him myself.”
“You must leave this, Crofts,” I admonished, dimly aware that I was cribbing from literature. “You’re letting your imagination make sport of you, of course; but, tell me, what’s been the spring of all your troubles? What’s actually happened here?”
His mood had shifted. “No, let’s change the subject. This is no way to receive a guest, with omens and warnings.”
“But, good heavens, you only make it worse when you stop at the warnings. I want to hear some of the facts.”
“You really do?”
“This is absurd. Of course I do.”