Ronny’s manner puzzled him. What did he know or suspect? And why had he not voiced his suspicions, if he had them, to the doctor.
Presently the two friends were skimming along in Jimmy’s car with a cheerful disregard for such things as speed limits.
“Jimmy,” said Ronny at last, “I suppose you’re about the best pal I have—now.”
“Well,” said Jimmy, “what about it?”
He spoke gruffly.
“There’s something I’d like to tell you. Something you ought to know.”
“About Gerry Wade?”
“Yes, about Gerry Wade.”
Jimmy waited.
“Well?” he inquired at last.
“I don’t know that I ought to,” said Ronny.
“Why?”
“I’m bound by a kind of promise.”
“Oh! Well then, perhaps you’d better not.”
There was silence.
“And yet, I’d like … You see, Jimmy, your brains are better than mine.”
“They could easily be that,” said Jimmy unkindly.
“No, I can’t,” said Ronny suddenly.