"She's dead—died a year ago," was Boyne's prompt reply.
"Lilla dead!" sighed the other. "Poor Lilla! She was a very good wife to you—just as Alice was to me! Poor Lilla!"
"Don't you bother about my personal affairs, Lionel. Just keep your own end up, and breathe the bit of fresh air now while you can before you go back to your own quarters. I don't like you getting up through that trap-door on to the roof. Somebody might see you one night."
"My quarters! My prison, you mean!" he retorted bitterly.
"Prison? Fool, what are you saying? Your room is surely comfortable, and I do my best for you. If you want to get out—do so. And you'll be arrested by the first police constable who comes along."
"But it is prison!" replied the mysterious figure in a voice asking for pity. "Prison!"
"Well—take your liberty, and take the consequences," the other responded roughly.
"Look what I do! I'm always working for you—always!"
Boyne laughed harshly.
"Very well! Give it up, and I'll fling you out into the gutter—now—just as you are! I shan't suffer," he added, "but you will! By gad you will!"