Page:The Black Moth.pdf/45

feverishly his eyes searched the lawyer’s face, questioning.

“John told you—told you———” he started, and floundered hopelessly.

“His lordship told me nothing, sir. He was singularly reticent. But there was nothing he could tell me that I did not already know.”

“What do you mean, Warburton? Why do you look at me like that? Why do you fence with me? In plain words, what do you mean?”

Warburton rose, clenching his hands.

“I know you, Master Richard, for what you are!”

“Ah!” Carstares flung out his hand as if to ward off a blow.

Another tense silence. With a great effort Warburton controlled himself, and once more the mask of impassivity seemed to descend upon him. After that one tortured cry Richard became calm again. He sat down; on his face a look almost of relief, coming after a great strain.

“You learnt the truth … from John. He … will expose me?”

“No, sir. I have not learnt it from him. And he will never expose you.”

Richard turned his head. His eyes, filled now with a species of dull pain, looked full into Warburton’s.

“Oh?” he said. “Then you …?”

“Nor I, sir. I have pledged my word to his lordship. I would not speak all these years for your father’s sake—now it is for his.” He choked.

“You … are fond of John?” Still the apathetic, weary voice.

“Fond of him———? Good God, Master Dick, I love him!”

“And I,” said Richard, very low.

He received no reply, and looked up.

“You don’t believe me?”

“Once, sir, I was certain of it. Now———!” he shrugged.

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