Garth shook his head.
"I never drink when I'm at work."
"But you are our guest," she said.
"Our guest," came in her husband's difficult voice.
In neither of their faces could Garth read the reproof their tones had suggested. What point could there be in this abnormal masquerade?
He glanced at his watch. Mrs. Alden caught the gesture. She walked to a cabinet and measured her husband's medicine.
"It's time," she said as she gave it to him, "that we all were in bed. Shall I ring for John?"
"I'll ring," Garth answered, "a little later. I should be glad of a word with your husband."
When Mrs. Alden had gone he tried to talk sanely to the sick and melancholy man, urging him to seek more cheerful surroundings. Alden merely shook his head.
"See here," Garth exploded at last. "There's no point in your closing your confidence to me. It only makes matters a thousand times more difficult. You're afraid. Of what?"
The other answered with a difficulty that was not wholly physical. He had hit upon this incomprehensible plan and he would carry it through.
"Then it's only fair to tell you," Garth said, "that the man who drove me out talked a little. I've heard about your boat, of why your servants ran, of the strange men with whom you've crowded the village. Tell me one thing. Have you had threatening letters about your contracts?"
