Seymour Michael
was puzzled. He was not afraid of this boy. He knew himself to be
stronger--capable of over-mastering him entirely. But for the first time
in his life he felt awkward and ill at ease.
Arthur Agar only wanted this man to go. He felt that he could forego the
news which he must undoubtedly be in a position to give if only he could
be rid of this hated presence. At moments the loathing came to him again,
like a cold hand laid upon his heart.
"Were you with him," inquired the undergraduate, "at the time of
his--death?"
"No. I was at head-quarters, forty miles to the rear."
There was a little pause, then suddenly Seymour Michael leant forward
with his two hands on the table that stood between them.
"Mr. Agar," he said, "are you able to keep a secret?"
"I suppose so," answered Agar apprehensively.
"Then I am going to tell you something which you must swear by all that
you hold most sacred to keep a strict secret until such time as I give
you leave to reveal it.
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