"This is my old friend Bateman Hunter. I've told you about him," said Edward, his constant smile breaking on his lips.
"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr Hunter. I used to know your father."
The stranger held out his hand and took the young man's in a strong, friendly grasp. It was not till then that Edward mentioned the other's name.
"Mr Arnold Jackson."
Bateman turned white and he felt his hands grow cold. This was the forger, the convict, this was Isabel's uncle. He did not know what to say. He tried to conceal his confusion. Arnold Jackson looked at him with twinkling eyes.
"I daresay my name is familiar to you."
Bateman did not know whether to say yes or no, and what made it more awkward was that both Jackson and Edward seemed to be amused. It was bad enough to have forced on him the acquaintance of the one man on the island he would rather have avoided, but worse to discern that he was being made a fool of. Perhaps, however, he had reached this conclusion too quickly, for Jackson, without a pause, added:
"I understand you're very friendly with the Longstaffes. Mary Longstaffe is my sister."
Now Bateman asked himself if Arnold Jackson could think him ignorant of the most terrible scandal that Chicago had ever known. But Jackson put his hand on Edward's shoulder.
"I can't sit down, Teddie," he said. "I'm busy. But you two boys had better come up and dine to-night."