Harrison,” he snapped back. “He seems blasted anxious to stick his nose into my concerns. Tell him to keep out of it. I don’t like the swine.”
“I don’t see,” I said, “why you should work yourself up into this extraordinary state of mind because a man has made a few ordinary inquiries about his father. Unless, of course, you have anything special to hide.”
This seem to sober him down. He pulled his face into something more nearly resembling amiability and then suddenly began to laugh.
“I’m sorry. I lost my temper rather. Anything to hide? Good God, no—except that I’m sorry Harrison has got on to—that business with Margaret, you know. She must have let something out, accidentally. But I’ll swear the old man never knew a word about it. Not a damn thing. He was as right as rain—best of pals, and all that. But I don’t like that pup of his.”