"I am so sorry, Willy. I had no suspicion it was you. Why did you not confide in me?"
The invalid shook his head. "There might have been danger in it."
"Never from me," was the emphatic answer.
"Ah, my lord, you don't know. I haven't dared to make myself known to a soul. Mr. Hillary found it out, and I couldn't help myself."
Lord Hartledon glanced round at the strange place: the rafters, the rude walls. A fire was burning on the hearth, and the appliances brought to bear were more comfortable than might have been imagined; but still—
"Surely you will allow yourself to be removed to a better place, Willy?" he said.
"Call me Pike," came the feverish interruption. "Never that other name again, my lord; I've done with it for ever. As to a better place—I shall have that soon enough."
"You wanted to say something to me, Mr. Hillary said."
"I've wanted to say it some time now, and to beg your lordship's pardon. It's about the late earl's death."
"My brother's?"