"If I tell it I won't get it," replied George, also laughing; "but I don't believe in fortune-telling. It is rubbish."
"It wasn't in Mrs. Jersey's case," said the other, who appeared to be a trifle superstitious.
"Oh, that was a mere coincidence. But you asked me about Miss Bull, sir! Do you know her?"
Derrington nodded. "She came to me on behalf of Mrs. Jersey's niece and wished the lease renewed. I heard her story and consented. I dare say the niece will be quite as good a tenant as the aunt."
This conversation was all very well, but there was nothing to be learned from it on either side. Brendon could not discover if his grandfather knew to whom he was speaking, and Derrington found it impossible to learn if George could tell him anything of the case which had not been reported in the papers. For some reason Derrington wished to know what had transpired, and Brendon felt convinced that this anxiety was more than that of a landlord for the loss of a good tenant. He wondered if Derrington knew that Mrs. Jersey had written out a confession and that it was missing. He would had liked to find out, but since he could not reveal himself as Derrington's grandson there was no chance of getting this information. Besides, Derrington appeared to grow weary of discussing the murder. "It is worn threadbare," he said. "All the papers have been talking about it. I agree with you, Mr. Brendon, that the assassin will never be discovered."
"Never!" said George, looking full at the determined face of the old man. "Are you quite sure?
"I am sure of nothing in this world, save that you said so yourself, Mr. Brendon. However, there are pleasanter subjects to talk of. What about yourself--your aims, your ambitions, your chances of success?"
"Are those pleasant subjects?" laughed Brendon.
"To an old man such as I am," nodded the other. "I like to hear of the castles in the air which youth builds."
"I am afraid my castles will never turn to bricks and mortar," said Brendon with a sigh.