“So much the better,” rejoined Sir Rowland. “He who stands on the verge of the grave, as I do, should never be unprepared.”
“You're strangely superstitious, Sir Rowland,” said Jonathan, halting, and looking steadfastly at him.
“If I were so, I should not be here,” returned Trenchard.
“How so?” asked Wild, curiously.
“I had a terrible dream last night. I thought my sister and her murdered husband dragged me hither, to this very room, and commanded you to slay me.”
“A terrible dream, indeed,” said Jonathan thoughtfully. “But you mustn't indulge these gloomy thoughts. Let me recommend a glass of wine.”
“My penance forbids it,” said Trenchard, waving his hand. “I cannot remain here long.”
“You will remain longer than you anticipate,” muttered Wild.
“Before I go,” continued Sir Rowland, “I must beg of you to disclose to me all you know relative to the parentage of Thames Darrell.”
“Willingly,” replied Wild. “Thinking it likely you might desire to have this information, I prepared accordingly. First, look at this glove. It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered. You will observe that a coronet is embroidered on it.”