"What I have told you is true, but--but--I have not told you all!"
"I should think not, indeed! Who expected that you should? I am not at
all sure that I care to hear it."
"Oh, but--I want to tell you!"
The Chieftain chuckled with amusement. He was evidently comfortably
convinced of the non-importance of the forthcoming revelations, and
Margot's courage suffered another ebb as she returned his unsuspicious
glance.
"I--we--we knew that you were staying at the Nag's Head!"
The Chieftain cocked a surprised eyebrow, startled but unresentful.
"You knew that we were here, before you arrived, and met us in the
flesh? Is that so? I wonder how you heard! I make it a rule to keep
my holiday plans as secret as possible, for the very good reason that a
holiday is a holiday, and one wants a change of companionship as well
as scene. How in the world did you hear that we were bound for
Glenaire? I'm curious!"
Margot's eyelids fell guiltily, but Nature had generously endowed these
same lids with long black lashes, the points of which curled up in a
manner distractingly apparent when shown in contrast with a flushed pink
cheek; so it happened that instead of being hardened by the sight, the
Chieftain drew a few inches nearer, and smiled with genial approval.
"Well, out with it! How did you hear?"
"I--asked!"
"Asked?" The brow became a network of astonished wrinkling. "You
asked? Whom did you ask? And why? What did you know about us, to give
you interest in our comings or goings? This grows curiouser and
curiouser! I imagined that we were as absolute strangers to you as you
were to us."
"It--it--there was the magazine--it was because of the magazine."
"Oh, indeed! You knew the name through the magazine! I understand!"
The Chieftain straightened himself, and the laugh died out of his eyes.
For the first time in the history of their short acquaintance Margot saw
his face set in firm, hard lines, the business face which had been left
at home, together with the black coats and silk hats of City wear, and
seeing it, trembled with fear. But it was too late to retreat; for
better or worse she was bound to go forward and complete her half-
finished revelations.
"I wanted to get to know your brother, because he is the editor of the
Loadstar, and I had heard people say that he was the most powerful
literary man in London; that if he chose to take up any one who was
beginning to write he could do more to help than any one else. We know
no literary people at home, and I wanted to. Badly!"
"I see! Just so. Written a novel, and want help to get it into print,"
returned the Chieftain slowly. He had drawn down his lips into an
expression of preternatural gravity, but the hard look had disappeared.
The murder was out, and he was not angry; he might pretend to be, but
Margot was too sharp-witted to be frightened by a pretence.