Kyles interrupted both with an imperious gesture.
"I stick to my one and only love, and that is Maria Guzman," he said sharply, but his face was pale. "I have four thousand pounds. With that I'll find the treasure and have five millions. Then we'll--but that's neither here nor there, Herries," he wheeled round to face that most indignant gentleman, "you may think what you like. It is not to my interest to kill you or to keep you prisoner. You shall hear all I know and then go free. For your opinion of me I don't care that," and he snapped his fingers contemptuously.
Herries eyed him with scorn.
"Fewer words would have done, Kyles. I wait to hear what you have to say."
"Aye," said the sage gravely, "we're wasting valuable meenutes, an' it's dry wark, a' this talk wi'oot the cheerin' cup."
Kyles flushed and winced at the tone of Herries, and cast a glance at Mrs. Narby, who was still fondling her miserable, tongue-tied son. Then he straightened himself, and his face brightened when his eyes rested on the wooden box, which contained the money he had risked so much to get. He spoke quietly and to the point.
"Sir Simon," said Captain Kyles, "objected to my marrying his daughter, and wanted me to give her up. To gain my own ends, I refused. Then he offered to bribe me with one thousand pounds. I declined, and said that I would take two thousand."
Herries shrugged his shoulders, but did not look up. Kyles reddened at this sign of contempt, and continued more rapidly, as though eager to get the shameful tale ended. The rest of the company, even the lively Gowrie, held their peace.
"Sir Simon then made his plans. He signed a will disinheriting Maud, save for £1,000 a year, and giving the money to you, Herries, provided you found out who killed him, and----"
"Why did he do that?"