The ex-Emir's heavy eyes lighted up a little.
"Ay," said Farish M'Kissock, musingly. "And so it was—her—that helped you past your dug grave! I knew her for a mettlesome filly the first time I ever clapped eyes on her. And now—to think that but for you and me she'd be cosily settled, knowing nothing, in this old nest—that should by rights have been my wife's and mine! It's a damned upside-down world this, my fine doctor! But—you'll make it up to her, maybe, in another way?"
He was gazing at Carthew with something of his old imperious, indomitable spirit. "You owe—her—your very coronet, my new Lord Jura," said he.
"I'll pay all I owe," said Carthew, to humour him, "if she'll take any payment from me." And at that the Marquis of Ingoldsby scowled still more blackly.
The ex-Emir made a gruesome effort to laugh sardonically.
"She'll take it," said he, "if you're man enough, if you're man enough to master her," said he and sank back on his couch.
"And now—about Captain Dove," Carthew suggested as he brought paper and ink to the table from the desk in one corner. And the dying man sat up again as if spurred to a final effort.
He looked round at his stricken sister. "Leave us for a little, Janet, woman," said he in a more kindly tone. "There is that to be told now which you would like ill to hear, and his lordship will call you back when I'm through with it."
Carthew nodded hastily to the old housekeeper. "We'll be as quick as we can," he promised: "and you can stay within call."
She went, however unwillingly, and then her brother began the story of all his dealings with Captain Dove, speaking slowly, in a low voice, husbanding his strength, while Carthew wrote down every word of it.