"You must admit that common sense can dictate no other course. You say I am ruined as it is. Well, then, I can well afford to risk whatever is left on the chance of extricating the estate."
The lawyer wagged his gray head sorrowfully.
"It's a very sad situation for me, Mister Hugh—beg pardon, your lordship," he sighed. "One way, as you say, it's ruin, to put the facts bluntly. The other way, there'll be terrible danger. Well, sir, I wish you and your friends the best of luck, and whatever poor service I can afford you you may rely upon."
CHAPTER IV
THE GUNROOM AT CASTLE CHESBY
The inimitable Watkins met us at Chesby station with a motor in which we were whirled off through mirky woods and a half-seen park to a low, rambling building of varying architecture set on the summit of a saddle-back hill. Lights showed in one wing, but the center and other wing were dark.
"I'm very sorry, your ludship," apologized Watkins, as he assisted us from the car in front of a Tudor archway. "It's been some years since the 'ouse has been opened. Your uncle, 'e was used to living 'ere in the Old Wing, and we're under-staffed, if I may say so, your ludship, for—"
"It suits me, Watty," returned Hugh. "My friends are not company, and of course, we shall not entertain. It would be foolish to open up the entire place."
He stood on the doorstep, glancing around him at the thick, ivy-draped walls and the machicolated parapets which lined the roofs.
"Welcome to Chesby, you chaps," he hailed us. "It gives me a thrill to come here. I haven't seen it since before the war, except for one brief visit two years ago, and I haven't really lived here since I was a lad."