I suppose I should have interrupted the man’s villainy, but by this time, between cramp and terror, I could do nothing but lie quaking on the cold floor of the gallery.
Lord Cannebrake came back in a minute or two.
“He’s dead?”
“Dead,” said the murderer.
“And nobody will know,” said his lordship, with a sigh of relief.
“Not if I don’t peach.”
“What d’ye mean?”
“Why, just this here, my lord. I’m tired of being butler. I wants promotion. I reckon you’ll sign some sort of a parlez-vous as’ll ensure my promotion.”
Lord Cannebrake seemed stricken by his servant’s treachery.
“Are you going to turn against me, Conrad?”