"Desmond," he said, after a pause, "we have nothing to do with old times or titles. I can trust your will, I know; but do not let your memory betray me. I mean, words must not slip. I hope you are going to get out of this safely; I can not, of course. After my—capture," a curious expression flickered across his face, "no matter how things end, you may count that I will say nothing of you or the others. Will you, at all times in the future, remember that I am just Leroy?"
"I will," the big man replied briefly. "And the others don't know anything."
"No; there is only you. You it would not help if the truth were made public; it would only excite more attention. You yourself do not want your former record connected with your stay here. If you escape, you will be free and comparatively rich; leave me my secret, Desmond; I shall have nothing else."
"You needn't worry about me," Desmond reassured, his eyes on the ribbon of path that was visible. "It might be better, I'm thinking, to do the worrying about how you'll come out of this."
"Fiat justicia," Allard returned, with a cool endurance quite free from bitterness. "Or, more intelligibly, I must pay for my cakes and ale. Only carry your part through, and do not talk."
"You needn't worry. There's a man around that big boulder down there! Will I have to shoot bird seed at his legs, I wonder?"
"Not if you can avoid!"
"Oh, I'm not playing at it; rest easy. And don't fear they'll be believing it's you. When they find me gone and you not able to stand, they'll guess who was shooting. I'll put all the guns beyond your reaching them, to help, before I go to-night."
"No!"
The swift monosyllable fell with an energy that brought Desmond's glance at once to the speaker.