"I question if Lord Hartledon would give you up were you in rude health. I'm sure he would not," added Mr. Hillary, endorsing his opinion rather emphatically. "If ever there was a kindly nature in the world, it's his. What do you want with him?"
"I should like to say a word to him in private," responded Pike.
"Then you'd better not wait to say it. I'll tell him of your wish. It's all safe. Why, Pike, if the police themselves came they wouldn't trouble to touch you now."
"I shouldn't much care if they did," said the man. "I haven't cared for a long while; but there were the others, you know."
"Yes," said Mr. Hillary.
"Look here," said Pike; "no need to tell him particulars; leave them till I'm gone. I don't know that I'd like him to look me in the face, knowing them."
"As you will," said Mr. Hillary, falling in with the wish more readily than he might have done for anyone but a dying man.
He had patients out of Calne, beyond Hartledon, and called in returning. It was a snowy day; and as the surgeon was winding towards the house, past the lodge, with a quick step, he saw a white figure marching across the park. It was Lord Hartledon. He had been caught in the storm, and came up laughing.
"Umbrellas are at a premium," observed Mr. Hillary, with the freedom long intimacy had sanctioned.
"It didn't snow when I came out," said Hartledon, shaking himself, and making light of the matter. "Were you coming to honour me with a morning call?"