“How I have been mistaken! When I read the account of Lionel’s extraordinary escape, I said to myself, ‘This is Kester’s doing. Kester knew that his cousin was innocent, and it is he who has helped him to escape.’”
“You honoured me in your thoughts far more highly than I deserved. I stated all along my belief in my cousin’s innocence, but I had certainly no hand in planning his escape.”
“But, at all events, you saw him frequently while he was in prison? You were there as his friend, helper, and adviser? How did he bear his imprisonment? Did he speak of me?”
Again Kester’s colour came and went. “I never saw my cousin while he was in prison,” he said, in a low voice. “I was suffering severely from illness during the whole time. I was confined to my own rooms, and forbidden to stir out of doors on any account.”
“You were well enough, sir, to find your way to your club within a week of the date of your cousin’s trial. You were not too ill to play whist with Colonel Lexington, and win fifty guineas from that gentleman by betting on the odd trick. You were not afraid of walking home afterwards through the cold streets with a cigar in your mouth.” All this had been told General St. George by Colonel Lexington himself—an old military friend, who had called upon him two or three days previously.
Kester St. George glared at his uncle as if he would gladly have annihilated him. But the old soldier gave him back look for look, and the younger man’s eyes quickly fell. With a muttered curse, he pushed aside his chair, and strode to the window. Then he turned.
“General St. George, I will be frank with you,” he said. “There was never any love lost between Lionel Dering and myself. However deeply shocked I might be that such a foul crime should be laid to his charge, however strong might be my belief in his innocence, I could not—no, I could not—go near him when he lay in prison. He wanted no help or advice from me. He would not have thanked me for proffering them. I would not play the hypocrite’s part, and I did not go near him.”
“Your candour is really refreshing,” answered the General. “Since you have no tidings to give me of my nephew, I am sorry to have brought you so far from home. If you will accept this little cheque in payment of your expenses, I shall esteem it a favour.”
Kester came a step or two nearer and held out his hands appealingly. “Uncle—are we to part in this way?” he said, not without a ring of pathos in his voice.
“And why should we not part in this way, Mr. St. George?”