“Concerning a certain chapter of his life which for years had been very carefully hidden. The fact is, Mr Kemball, that he feared exposure!”
“Of what?”
“Of some rather ugly facts. And for that reason he carefully avoided making much explanation to you as to who he really was. He had reasons—very strong reasons—for concealing his actual identity.”
“May I not know them?” I asked very slowly, fixing my eyes upon his.
“Some day,” was the rather strained reply. “Not now—some day—some day. I hope to be in a position to explain all to you—to reveal to you certain matters which will hold you utterly dumbfounded and amazed.”
Chapter Eight.
The Story of the Cylinder.
I was taking tea beneath the trees with my host and Asta, when there approached a tall, dark-haired athletic young fellow in grey flannels and straw hat. He was smiling merrily, and the sudden light in the girl’s eyes when she saw him was sufficient to reveal to me that they were intimate friends.