Luncheon was over, and an adjournment to the smoking-room proposed, when (upon a sudden impulse) I burned my ships, and pleading indisposition, requested to consult the doctor.
“There is nothing the matter with my body, Dr. Urquart,” said I, as soon as we were alone.
He hummed, his mouth worked, he regarded me steadily with his gray eyes, but resolutely held his peace.
“I want to talk to you about the Flying Scud and Mr. Carthew,” I resumed. “Come: you must have expected this. I am sure you know all; you are shrewd, and must have a guess that I know much. How are we to stand to one another? and how am I to stand to Mr. Carthew?”
“I do not fully understand you,” he replied, after a pause; and then, after another: “It is the spirit I refer to, Mr. Dodd.”
“The spirit of my inquiries?” I asked.
He nodded.
“I think we are at cross-purposes,” said I. “The spirit is precisely what I came in quest of. I bought the Flying Scud at a ruinous figure, run up by Mr. Carthew through an agent; and I am, in consequence, a bankrupt. But if I have found no fortune in the wreck, I have found unmistakable evidences of foul play. Conceive my position: I am ruined through this man, whom I never saw; I might very well desire revenge or compensation; and I think you will admit I have the means to extort either.”
He made no sign in answer to this challenge.
“Can you not understand, then,” I resumed, “the spirit in which I come to one who is surely in the secret, and ask him, honestly and plainly, How do I stand to Mr. Carthew?”
“I must ask you to be more explicit,” said he.
“You do not help me much,” I retorted. “But see if you can understand: my conscience is not very
