"So my grandfather said. I don't think he is a good man myself. All the same he was my mother's brother, and I must assist him."
"He'll give you every opportunity to do so," said Durham, dryly. "I had a visit from him the other day?"
"What did he want?"
"His errand was similar to that of Mrs. Gilroy's. He wished to know if Sir Simon had made any provision for him in the will. I don't know on what grounds he based his claim, as your grandfather hated him. But he evidently expected to be remembered. I told him he would get nothing, and then with true Italian excitability he began to lament that you had not lived, saying you would have helped him."
"I shall certainly do that. He is my uncle when all is said and done. What is he doing?"
"Playing the violin in some orchestra. The fellow is a gentleman, Bernard, but a thorough scamp. Since he can earn his own bread I don't think it is wise for you to let him live on your money."
"There's no chance at present of my letting him believe I will allow that," said Gore, rather dolefully. "What else did he say?"
"Rather a strange thing. He said that he told Sir Simon that the Red Lamp would not bring you."
"The Red Window, you mean. My uncle knew about that one at the Hall. When my mother was alive, and staying—as she did for a time— with Sir Simon, she used to put a light in the Red Window so as to tell Tolomeo that she would meet him in the garden on that evening. The window is visible through a long avenue, and can easily be seen from the road which runs past the grounds. My poor mother used it as a signal to her brother, as Lucy used it as a signal to me. And I believe that in days gone by—in Charles the First's days—it was used in a like manner to warn loyal cavaliers."
"Tolomeo did not say the Red Window," replied Durham, wrinkling his brows, "but the Red Lamp, which makes me think he must have been with Sir Simon on that fatal evening."