“How is that?” asked my uncle, in surprise.
“It is just possible that I may be Lord Avon.”
“What, you have had some news?” cried my uncle, and I noticed a tremor in his voice.
“I’ve had my agent over at Monte Video, and he believes he has proof that Avon died there. Anyhow, it is absurd to suppose that because a murderer chooses to fly from justice—”
“I won’t have you use that word, Sir Lothian,” cried my uncle, sharply.
“You were there as I was. You know that he was a murderer.”
“I tell you that you shall not say so.”
Sir Lothian’s fierce little grey eyes had to lower themselves before the imperious anger which shone in my uncle’s.
“Well, to let that point pass, it is monstrous to suppose that the title and the estates can remain hung up in this way for ever. I’m the heir, Tregellis, and I’m going to have my rights.”
“I am, as you are aware, Lord Avon’s dearest friend,” said my uncle, sternly. “His disappearance has not affected my love for him, and until his fate is finally ascertained, I shall exert myself to see that his rights also are respected.”