"I certainly did not," said his son bitterly; "and I don't know why you need disguise yourself in this way. I know you did not murder Strode."
"But I intended to," cried Hill, suddenly snarling, and showing his teeth, "the black-hearted villain."
"I thought Strode was your friend, father?"
"He was my enemy--he was my evil genius--he was a tyrant who tried to crush all the spirit out of me. Oh," Hill beat his fist on the table in impotent rage, "I'm glad he's dead. But I wish he'd died by torture--I wish he'd been burnt--sliced to atoms. I wish----"
"Stop," said Mask, seeing Allen turn white and faint, at the sight of this degrading spectacle, "there's no need to speak like this, Lawrence. Tell us how you came to be at the Red Deeps."
"How do you know I was at the Red Deeps?" asked Hill, shivering, and with the sudden rage dying out of him.
"Well, you took your son's revolver, and----"
"You said you didn't believe I fired the shot, Mask," cried the miserable creature. "I heard you say so, I had my ear to the keyhole all the time----
"Father--father," said Allen, sick with disgust at the sight of his parent behaving in this way.
"And why not?" cried Hill, turning fiercely on him. "I am in danger. Haven't I the right to take all measures I can for my own safety? I did listen, I tell you, and I overheard all. Had you not proved to Mask here, that the bullet which caused the death could not have been fired out of your revolver, I'd not have come in. I should have run away. But you know I am innocent----"