Staring, in those first moments of semi-consciousness, into the eyes of Dandy Chater, as he supposed, he beat him off with both hands, shrieked aloud, and made for the window. Philip had only just time to catch him round the waist; in another moment, he would have gone head first into the yard below.
“Steady, my friend—steady!” exclaimed Philip, putting the terror-stricken man into a chair, and getting between him and the window. “What are you frightened at? What’s the matter?”
Cripps looked at him for a moment or two, and then his face gradually changed. “You came—came on a man so suddenly,” he said. “But I see now; I suppose you’re the other one.”
Philip laughed. “Yes,” he said—“I’m the other one. You know all about me, Cripps; you know that I’m a fugitive from justice—and you know, better than any one, that I am innocent, and am suffering for my brother’s sins. I suppose you know that he is dead?”
Cripps nodded. “Fished him out of the river myself, with a beastly sailor-man, who dragged me into it by sheer brute force,” he replied. “And, ever since then, you’ve been appearing to me as a ghost—and frightening me out of what few wits I have left. Now—what are you going to do?”
“First,” said Philip, sitting down near him—“I want to assure you that I am your friend; I want to plead with you to help me—to work with me to bring this business to an end. Who knows the real story, except yourself?”
“No one,” said Cripps after a moment’s thought—“except the woman who took you to Australia.”
“And she will say nothing, I know,” replied Philip. “Now there is a man—a cousin of mine—named Ogledon——”
Cripps shook a feeble fist in the air. “Ogledon is a scoundrel—a devil,” he cried. “Ask him how Dandy Chater—your brother, mind you—met his death?”
“If you know anything of that, Dr. Cripps—in mercy tell me!” exclaimed Philip.