"But he is the very essence of discretion and reserve. Your secret is as safe with him as with me," protested the gambler.
"The mischief is done, whatever it may be. You have called me by my name."
"May I ask if you are a relative of Henry Gracewood?" I inquired, so much interested in the pale gentleman that I forgot everything else.
"His own brother, and his only brother," replied Mr. Gracewood, bitterly. "I would not have him know that I am here for his fortune and mine, though I am guilty of no crime against him."
"Mind that, Phil," interposed Lynch; "and remember that discretion is the better part of valor, and sometimes the better part of virtue. This honest gentleman has been unfortunate, but not guilty."
I could not understand how a person in his situation, apparently an invalid, should happen to be in a gambling-house, and it seemed to me that the secrecy he coveted was an indication of something evil. He declared that he was guilty of no crime against his brother. Respect and regard for the good friend of my early years prompted me not to betray him, at least before I knew more about him. Then it occurred to me that the detective on the roof, or perhaps in the entry by this time, might discover more than it was desirable for him to know.
"Do you know where my brother is now, young man?" asked the invalid.
"He is at Delaware City, where his wife is sick," I replied, giving him the details of the illness of Mrs. Gracewood.
"You can talk it over between you," interposed Lynch. "I have an engagement with the governor of Missouri and half a dozen congressmen; and I hope you will excuse me for half an hour."
Mr. Gracewood nodded, and Lynch and Blair left the room. I had no doubt Mr. Bogart, in the entry, would attend to their movements, and I did not trouble myself about them. I told my companion all I knew about his brother.