“I can only believe one thing just now, John Huish,” he replied; “and that is that you are my dear sister’s husband, and that for her sake everything possible must be done to help you out of this dreadful scrape.”
“Yes,” cried Sir Humphrey feebly, “of course—of course. And, John, my boy, I always liked you; it’s a cursed impertinent lie, isn’t it?”
“It is indeed,” cried Huish earnestly; “unless—unless—”
He stopped, gazing from one to the other in a curiously bewildered fashion.
“Unless—unless what, my boy? Why don’t you speak out?”
“Let it rest to-night, sir,” said Huish, in an altered voice. “I am confused—shocked. Get me some good advice to-morrow, Dick, and when the examination comes off, you will, of course, find bail.”
Dick nodded, but did not shake hands.
“I’ll do everything I can,” he said sternly.
“Won’t you shake hands?”
“No,” replied Dick, “not till you are cleared. Huish,” he said in a whisper. “I shall work day and night to clear you, for Gerty’s sake; but I’ve heard some blackguardly things about you lately. This, though, is worse than all.”