"
"Good man!" said Jack. "Well, we'd better separate now. Good luck to
you both!"
I trust I am not of an unduly jealous disposition, but being thus asked
to take a back seat just as something really definite had happened was a
strain on my philosophy. The tragedy of the _Uruguay_ might not have
anything to do with the secret agency in the island--though I felt in my
bones it had, and Mr. Bolton might come and go and leave me possibly with
a little information to help my own quest. Still, it was annoying.
At the same time, my cousin's arguments were absolutely sound and I saw
perfectly that it would have been both foolish and ungenerous to play
Hobhouse with the man. So I went back and picked up a novel and tried to
dismiss the whole business from my mind in the meantime.
For the next twenty-four hours the island was full of gruesome stories
and the wildest rumours, but for most of the time Mr. Hobhouse stayed at
home and finished his novel. It was on the evening of the day after the
tragedy, when the doctor and he were sitting over the smoking room fire,
lighting their pipes after tea, that the bell rang. "Hallo, who's that at
this hour?" said the doctor.
I heard a heavy footstep in the passage, and guessed, but the only
announcement was that a gentleman wished to see Dr. Rendall.
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