"Lost! Lost!" moaned Michael. "Ah, this was why he made me sign the will—this was why—oh, heavens! how I suffer—suffer—the pain—the pain. Help me—help me! I am poisoned!"
Both the terrified women looked at one another, for even Miss Berengaria, strong-minded as she was, felt her nerve give way under this unexpected catastrophe. Then Alice advanced to the bedside, and from sheer force of habit addressed Michael by the false name he had assumed. "Bernard——"
"I am not Bernard," he screamed, rocking and rocking. "I will confess all. I am a dead man. Beryl won't give me the money now. He wants it all to himself. He has made Jerry poison me. I am to die as Sir Simon died. I am lost—lost—lost. Oh, what a wicked man I have been."
"Make atonement while you can," said Miss Berengaria, taking swift advantage of the opportunity. "Listen. We have known for some time that you are not Bernard Gore, and——"
Michael paid no attention, but kept on rocking in an agony of pain. "Help me—save me!" he moaned. "Oh, great heavens!"
"Payne will be here directly," said the old lady. "Maria"—the maid was in the room by this time—"go down and bring up some boiling water. We will apply hot flannels to his stomach."
"Meanwhile," said Alice, when the maid ran out, "tell us about yourself, Michael."
"Michael—Michael," he muttered, with the perspiration beading his brow. "You know my name. I thought you took me for Gore."
"Never. Bernard Gore is alive. We pretended to believe you, so that in the end you might be induced to confess."
"And now you have poisoned me."