"And so, young master, before I tell you the things you are longing to know, I must first know who you are, how you came to know of me, how you fell in with Lucy Walters' mother, and how much you know of the matter which brings you here."
"If I told you these things you would be but little wiser," I replied; "besides, I may not tell them till I know who you are, and whether it is worth my while."
"How old are you?"
"But twenty-three."
"You might be older than that," and I saw a twinkle in his eye. "Let me speak plainly, young master. It is long since I met a youth of twenty-three with so much sense."
There was so much of wheedling in his voice that I was put on my guard again. What he had failed to do by threats he would accomplish by flattery.
"One need not be young to be a fool," I replied.
He darted another angry glance at me, and then seemed on the point of uttering a savage threat. But he mastered this desire, and with a shrug of his shoulders he said—
"Bah! we are playing at see-saw. Let me understand. You came to me with a desire to know certain things. You would know first more of the woman whom you name Constance, then you would know more of the man who sent her here. That springs from young blood and a boy's heart. But that is not all. There is the man's brain as well as the boy's heart to be considered. Let me think of that. You, like others, have heard the story of the king's marriage, but, unlike others, you have been able to locate the place where the secret is kept. You desire to possess it. Why? Because, like a thousand others, you desire to have power over the king. How came you to find out this place? What is the purpose you have in your mind? You will not tell me. Nevertheless I shall find out. What is your name? Well, for the present one name will do as well as another. So far so good. Now, then, for the other side. Here am I. Who am I? Ah, who knows? Elijah Pycroft once lived here. Some say he died and was buried. But was he? If he was, who am I? Am I Elijah Pycroft come to life again? For years this old house hath been shunned as though it were, the house of pestilence. Why? Witches' revels are held here, dark deeds are done here. Spirits of darkness haunt this place. But then men have come here through the day and found nought. What then becomes of the old man who haunts it through the night? Who is he? Who is he? Ha, ha! Thou art a bold youth to come here. But, come, let us to business. Thou art a brave youth, and thou art not without a smattering of wit. Still thou art but a boy with a boy's rattlepate."
He seemed to be talking to himself as much as to me during the latter part of his soliloquy. Evidently he was simply thinking aloud, and trying to understand our relations more clearly.