It had amused him rather to keep that "friend" in the dark about the fate of his assistant.
Renouard had never needed other company than his own, for there was in him something of the sensitiveness of a dreamer who is easily jarred.

He had said to himself that the all-knowing one would only preach again about the evils of solitude and worry his head off in favour of some forlornly useless protege of his.

Also the inquisitiveness of the Editor had irritated him and had closed his lips in sheer disgust.
And now he contemplated the noose of consequences drawing tight around him.
It was the memory of that diplomatic reticence which on the terrace had stiffled his first cry which would have told them all that the man sought for was not to be met on earth any more.

He shrank from the absurdity of hearing the all-knowing one, and not very sober at that, turning on him with righteous reproaches-- "You never told me.

You gave me to understand that your assistant was alive, and now you say he's dead.