Bob glanced at him in surprise. “Why--yes,” he admitted. “That was just it.” “Did you think ’em out?” “I don’t know.... Yes, I suppose I did.” “When are you going over across?” “Oh, pretty soon. In a week or two, probably.” “I see.... Well, I am glad to have you tell me that. Glad you are going to be so sensible.” It was this short speech which changed the entire complexion of the interview. It was the wrong thing to say just then. In the Townsend tone there was--or so Bob fancied--a note of quiet satisfaction, the serene contentment of the player who has won the game just as he intended and expected to win it. Griffin had meant to be very diplomatic and tactful with his meddlesome visitor. He would tell his carefully constructed story tersely and end the conversation as quickly as possible. Now he forgot all this. The temptation to let this triumphant, condescending trickster know that he had seen through his trickery from the beginning got the better of his judgment. He spoke the thought that was in his mind. “Yes!” he muttered, with sarcastic emphasis. “I have no doubt you are.” “Eh? What’s that?... Why, yes, of course I am. It is what you ought to do.” Still the condescension and the note of triumph. The last atom of Bob’s restraint vanished. “It is what you want me to do, I know that,” he said, sharply. “It is what you planned to have me do all along.” Foster Townsend leaned back in the chair. His keen eyes narrowed. “Humph!” he grunted. “Now what do you think you mean by that?” “You know what I mean. Oh,” with bitter contempt, “what is the use of pretending you don’t?” There was a moment of silence. Townsend threw one knee over the other. “Look here, young man,” he said, sternly and deliberately. “As long as you’ve said so much, maybe we might as well have a clear understanding. If you mean that I am just as well satisfied to have you and my niece three or four thousand miles away from each other--if that is what you mean, then you are right. I am. Nothing but trouble for both of you could ever have come of your--well, getting too friendly. That is just as sure as that we are here in this shanty this minute.” Bob would have retorted hotly. He had much to say and now he meant to say it. But his visitor lifted a hand.