"And Hurseton is where your uncle, Sir Simon, lives."
Gore looked black. "Yes," he said shortly. "Go on!"
Conniston drew his own conclusions from the frown, rattled on in his usual cheerful manner. "I came into the title as I said, but scarcely an acre is there attached to it, save those of mud and water round Cove Castle. I had a sum of ready money left by my grandmother—old Lady Tain, you remember—and I got through that as soon as possible. It didn't last long," added the profligate, grinning; "but I had a glorious time while it lasted. Then the smash came. I took what was left and went to America. Things got worse there, so, on hearing the war was on, I came back and enlisted as Dick West. I revealed myself only to my lawyer; and, of course, my tobacconist—old Taberley—knows. But from paragraphs in the Society papers about my noble self I'm supposed to be in California. Of course, as I told you, I take jolly good care to keep out of everyone's way. I'm off to the Cape in a month, and then if Fortune favors me with a commission and a V.C. I'll take up the title again."
"You still hold the castle, then?"
"Yes. It's the last of the old property. Old Mother Moon looks after it for me. She's a horrid old squaw, but devoted to me. So she ought to be. I got that brat of a grandson of hers a situation as messenger boy to old Taberley. Not that he's done much good. He's out of his place now, and from all accounts, is a regular young brute."
"Does he know you have enlisted?"
"What, young Judas—I call him Judas," said Conniston, "because he's such a criminal kid. No, he doesn't. Taberley had to turn him away for robbing the till or something. Judas has spoiled his morals by reading penny novels, and by this time I shouldn't wonder if he hasn't embarked on a career of crime like a young Claude Duval. No, Gore, he doesn't know. I'm glad of it—as he would tell Mother Moon, and then she'd howl the castle down at the thought of the head of the West family being brought so low."
"West is your family name, isn't it?"
"It is; and Richard is my own name—Richard Grenville Plantagenet West, Lord Conniston. That's my title. But I dropped all frills, and here I smoke, Dick West at your service, Bernard, my boy. So now you've asked me enough questions, what's your particular lie?"
"Dick, Dick, you are as hair-brained as ever. I never could—"