He must have seen my hand, however, for, when a cup of cold water set me spluttering and blinking, I found my hand tied up in Sir William's handkerchief and Sir William himself eying me strangely.
"How came that wound?" he said, bluntly.
I could not reply—or would not.
He asked me again whether the ferret bit me, and I was tempted to say yes. Treachery was abhorrent to me; I hated Silver Heels, but could not betray her, and it was easy to clap the blame on Vix.
"Sir?" I stammered.
"I asked what bit you," he said, icily.
I tried to say Vix, but the lie, too, stuck in my throat.
"I cannot tell you," I muttered.
"Then," said Sir William, with a strange smile of relief, "I shall not force you, Michael. May I honourably ask you how you come by this jack-knife?"
I shook my head. My face was on fire.