After this I had to guess at what Garthorne was driving at—he stuttered and stammered and let his ideas rattle looser than ever. I think it added up to this: he hadn’t thought much about the ethics of his play with the girl. She had no attraction for him—too severe and serious to seem really feminine. And he had not pretended—hadn’t carried on what could possibly be called a flirtation with her. Then he suddenly woke up to the fact that she wasn’t as indifferent as he. That had been a shock to him—one he couldn’t stand. He had seen things straight for the first time. He had thought of it before as simply a wit-matching game. Affection made it different—even though the affection was all on one side.
“I told The Whistler I was through this afternoon,” he finished.
“How did he like it?”
“Not a lot. In fact, I had to hit him.”
“So? And what were you planning to do next?”
“I was going to see Miss Shan, tell her the truth, and then—then I thought I’d better lay low.”
“I think you’d better. The Whistler might not like being hit.”
“I won’t hide now! I’ll go give myself up and tell the truth.”
“Forget it!” I advised him. “That’s no good. You don’t know enough to help her.”
That wasn’t exactly the truth, because he did know that the chauffeur and Hoo Lun had still been in the house the day after her departure for the East. But I didn’t want him to get out of the game yet.
“If I were you,” I went on, “I’d pick out a quiet hiding place and stay there until I can get word to you. Know a good place?”