“To prepare a defence.”
“Oh,” said Latimer doubtfully and staring at the limp figure of the fugitive, “then you have a defence.”
“Yes—that is, I can—I can—oh, Alan,” wailed Sorley piteously, “in heaven’s name give me some wine or brandy. I have scarcely touched food since I left Belstone, and I am that weak I can scarcely speak. Give me drink and food, then we can talk.”
Fuller nodded silently, and went to a cupboard, whence he brought out a loaf of bread, some butter, and a jar of pâté de foie gras, which had been given to Dick by a friend, together with a bottle of good port wine. The hunted man, who had sought the sanctuary of their hearthstone, staggered to the table and began to eat and drink with avidity. Both men pitied the unfortunate creature, whose arrogance had been thus laid low. Whether he was innocent or guilty they could not say on what evidence they possessed; but it seemed terrible that a gentleman should be brought to such a sordid pass. While Sorley methodically filled himself with food, there was silence for quite a long time. Alan finally broke it.
“Why did you come here?” he asked abruptly.
“I want you to help me,” mumbled Sorley hastily.
“How can I help you, man? You know that there is a warrant out for your arrest, so if either Latimer or I assist you to escape we shall be compounding a felony.”
“I never asked for your assistance to escape,” retorted Sorley tartly, and in a stronger tone, for the food and drink had put life into him.
“Then why did you come here?” asked Alan again, and stiffening, as the old arrogance was perceptible in the man’s tone.
“I have told you; I want help.”