This disinclination to tell me the truth was annoying. He had always been quite frank and open, explaining all his theories, and showing to me any weak points in the circumstantial evidence. Yet suddenly, as it seemed to me, he had become filled with a strange mistrust. Why, I could not conceive.
“But surely you can tell me the nature of your discoveries?” I said. “There need be no secrets between us in this affair.”
“No, Ralph. But I’m superstitious enough to believe that ill-luck follows a premature exposure of one’s plans,” he said.
His excuse was a lame one—a very lame one. I smiled—in order to show him that I read through such a transparent attempt to mislead me.
“I might have refused to show you that letter of Ethelwynn’s,” I protested. “Yet our interests being mutual I handed it to you.”
“And it is well that you did.”
“Why?”
“Because knowledge of it has changed the whole course of my inquiries.”
“Changed them from one direction to another?”
He nodded.