"Is there any of that port left?"
"Plenty, save what Jerry drank, he being fond of his glass."
"What! a boy of thirteen, Mrs. Moon!" said Conniston, seriously. "If you had stifled Jerry in the mud years ago it would have been better for him and for you."
Mrs. Moon blew a gigantic sigh. "True enough, your lordship, seeing as he'll occupy a place in the Chamber of Horrors in the exhibition me and Moon saw in London. Ah, well, some of his grandfather's people were hanged and——"
Conniston waited to hear no more of this domestic Newgate's Calendar, but abruptly opened the door and entered the room.
It was a large, airy apartment, with two windows looking on to the shining expanse of the sea, and well furnished in an old-fashioned way. In a large grate a fire of logs was briskly burning, so that the atmosphere was less damp than in the other rooms of the castle. The furniture was all of black oak, and included a square table, a comfortable sofa which was drawn up close to the fire, and several arm-chairs. Also there was a sideboard and a bookcase well supplied with volumes of works long since out of print. The hangings were of faded brocade, and the carpet was patched and mended. Here and there was valuable china and a few silver ornaments. The whole room looked comfortable and home-like, and rather quaint in its faded and mellow beauty.
"Where are you, Bernard?" asked Conniston, seeing the room was empty.
For answer a window curtain was drawn aside and Gore came out, holding the heavy steel poker. "It's only you," he said, looking very pale. "I heard voices and concealed myself behind the curtain. I expected you, but didn't know but what someone else might come. That servant suspects me."
"Not Mrs. Moon," said Conniston, pitying the haggard looks of his friend.
"No, Victoria. She is as sharp as a needle and—"