“Not in the least,” was my answer. “They dare not betray you—that you know quite well. But my affection for Lady Lolita, to which you referred just now, has caused me to make certain inquiries with somewhat curious results. Therefore, I tell you plainly, Mr Keene, that if you are not desirous of exposure you had better leave Sibberton before noon to-morrow.”
“And if not?” he inquired, raising his eyebrows.
“If not, I shall go to his lordship and tell him your real name.”
He laughed in my face.
“Well, that’s exactly what would bring matters to a head,” he declared. “Perhaps, after all, it would be best if he did know—for I could then reveal to him, and to the world, a truth that would be both ugly and startling. Tell him who I am, if you wish, but before doing so, is it not better to carefully consider all the eventualities?”
At that instant Lolita’s maid Weston opened the door, apparently looking for her mistress. Her eyes met Keene’s, and I saw a look of mutual recognition. But in an instant the young woman closed the door again.
Keene made no remark, but I saw surprise and apprehension written upon his sun-bronzed features.
“Then, in a word, you refuse to relieve these ladies of your presence?” I said in a firm tone.
“I refuse to obey any paid servant of Lord Stanchester,” was his insulting response.
“But if you recollect the manner in which you first visited Sibberton—as a hungry tramp who drank beer at the Stanchester Arms—you must admit that your presence here is, to say the least, suspicious. You entrusted to Warr a letter to Lady Lolita—and village publicans will gossip, you know.”