"Eat your crumpets, boy!" he said at last.
"What?" Piers glanced up momentarily. "Oh, all right, sir, in a minute. This is rather an interesting case, what? You see, Adderley was a friend of mine."
"When did you meet him?" demanded Sir Beverley.
"I knew him in my school-days. He spent a whole term in the neighbourhood. It was just before I left for my year of travel. I got to know him rather well. He gave me several hints on wrestling."
"Did he teach you how to break your opponent's neck?" asked Sir
Beverley drily.
Piers made a slight, scarcely perceptible movement of one hand. It clenched upon the paper he held. "They were—worth knowing," he said, with his eyes upon the sheet. "But I should have thought he was too old a hand himself to get into trouble."
Sir Beverley grunted. Piers read on. At the end of a lengthy pause he laid the paper aside. "I'm beastly rude," he remarked. "Have a crumpet!"
"Eat 'em yourself!" said Sir Beverley. "I hate 'em!"
Piers picked up the plate and began to eat. He stared at the blaze as he did so, obviously lost in thought.
"Don't dream!" said Sir Beverley sharply.