Wolf was silent again. He was thinking of the friendship between this old man and his father. He pondered in his mind whether or not to reveal to Darnley the unexpected agitation which his appearance had excited. For some reason he felt reluctant to do this. He felt vaguely that his new closeness to his cynical progenitor committed him to a certain caution. He was on the edge of all manner of dark entanglements. Well! He would use what discernment he had; but at any rate he would keep the whole problem to himself.

“I went to Torp’s yard,” he remarked, anxious to change the subject. “The fellow doesn’t seem to have got very far with Redfern’s headstone.”

Darnley Otter lifted his heavy eyelids and fixed upon him a sudden piercing look from his mackerel-blue eyes.

“Did Urquhart talk to you about Redfern?” he asked.

“Only to grumble at him for doing something about the book that didn’t suit his ideas. Did you know him? Did he die suddenly?”