Once more a pause ensued.
"What I know must remain shut up in my own brain," he answered slowly and as if he were weighing every word before he uttered it; "and it will go down to my grave with me. Dear lad, fond as I am of you, you must not ask any more of me, for I can not satisfy your curiosity."
"But, Sir George, I assure you, with all the earnestness at my command, that this is a matter of life and death to me," I replied. "You can have no notion what it means. My honour, my good name—nay, my very existence itself—depends upon it."
As if in answer to my importunity, my friend rose from his chair and picked up the newspaper which the attendant had placed on the table beside me. He opened it, and, after scanning the pages, discovered what he was looking for. Folding it carefully, he pointed to a certain column and handed it to me. I took it mechanically and glanced at the item in question. It was an account of the murder of the unfortunate curiosity dealer, but, so far as I could see, my name was not mentioned. I looked up at Sir George for an explanation.
"Well?" I said, but the word stuck in my throat.
"Though you will scarcely credit it, I think I understand everything," he replied. "The murdered man's shop was within a short distance of your abode. A witness states that he saw some one leave the victim's house about the time the deed must have been committed and that he made his way into your street. As I said, when you first asked me about him, may God help you, Cyril Forrester, if this is your trouble!"
"But what makes you connect Pharos with the murder described here?" I asked, feigning a surprise I was far from feeling.
"That I can not tell you," he replied. "To do so would bring upon me——But no, my lips are sealed, hopelessly sealed."
"But surely you are in a position to give me that man's address? Lady Medenham told me you were aware of it."
"It is true I was, but I am afraid you have come too late."