“Yes; I am Ronald Watson, though how Mr. Collins has run me to earth is a mystery. And what you are doing in the matter, unless you knew my identity, is more than I can say.”
“I don’t understand it at all,” said Sinclair, who was inclined to be sulky at the turn of affairs. “It seems to me there will have to be a lot of explanation.”
“You shall have it. The time has gone by for this concealment. It was a mistake. Only let me tell you I had nothing to do with the murder of my poor father.”
“I can answer for that,” said Collins.
“Look here,” continued Collins, “I have my car here, and I suggest that we run over to The Vale, and have a full explanation there.”
“Yes; that will be the best thing,” said Watson, or Lewis. A sudden thought crossed Sinclair’s mind. “Oh, of course. That will do,” he said. Collins was watching him keenly.
“Will you settle up here then, while Watson and I get the car ready?”
Sinclair was about to demur, but after all this was Collins’ capture, and he could not very well insist on keeping the man with him, and as Collins had said he had no warrant.
Without waiting for an answer, the other two went out.
In a few minutes the humming of the car was heard, and Sinclair, having paid their bill, went to the front door.