"At Miss Plantagenet's. It's a long story. I'll tell it to you as soon as I can get my breath. Where's Jerry?"

"Shut up in an empty room," said Bernard. "He came last night at nine or thereabouts. I was outside the castle door and saw him coming. I did not know it was him until I stepped into the hall. When Jerry saw me, his hair rose on end, and he appeared to be frightened out of his life."

"As he well may be," muttered Conniston.

"I collared him, and he tried to get away. But I took him to my room and kept him there. He refused to answer my questions unless I let him go.

Of course not being able to trust him, I declined, so I am quite in the dark as to what he has been doing. I then shut him up in an empty room, with a barred window, and sent Victoria in to take him some food. And then a queer thing happened, Conniston. Victoria took him in the food, and was with Jerry for about ten minutes. When she came out she went downstairs and dressed herself in her best. Then she left the castle, and has not been heard of since. I am afraid she has gone to tell Beryl where I am," concluded Bernard, gloomily. "And I may be arrested to-day.

I should have looked after Victoria, but I never knew that Jerry would act so promptly. He is a perfect imp for cleverness."

"Don't you trouble your head about being arrested," said d.i.c.k, drawing a long breath. "It's not about that Victoria has gone."

"But what can the boy have sent her away for?"

"To warn Beryl. It's a pity you didn't keep the two apart," said Conniston, much vexed. "But as you have been so much in the dark, you can't help the mistake you made. As to arrest, you may have to give yourself up. Mark told me to inform you to hold yourself in readiness."

"I shall be delighted," said Gore, emphatically. "I am about tired of this hole-and-corner business. But what about Michael Gilroy?"

"Sit down," said Conniston, lighting a cigarette. "I will tell you the whole story. It was not told you before, as Mark was afraid, with your impatient disposition, you would insist on turning up and spoiling the whole business."

"I daresay I should have done so," admitted Bernard, frankly. "But, tell me, what's up, old chap? I'm on tenterhooks."

"Well, in the first place, we have discovered that Julius killed your grandfather."

Bernard started to his feet. "What!" he shouted, then calmed down. "I almost expected to hear you say that," he added. "How was the villain found out?"

"You may well call him a villain," rejoined Conniston; "he has tried to poison Michael."

"What for?"

"To get rid of an undesirable witness, I suppose. He employed Jerry to give him some a.r.s.enic in a cup of tea. Jerry did so, and then cleared out, Mark communicated with Scotland Yard about Jerry, but we never expected he would be here. It's a lucky thing you kept the young wretch prisoner, Bernard."

"This is all very well," said Bernard, who looked bewildered. "But you tell me so many facts without detail that I can't understand how to connect them. Tell me the whole story."

"You won't interrupt if I do?"

"No," said Gore, impatiently, "fire ahead, d.i.c.k."

Conniston did so at once, and related all that had hitherto been kept from Gore's knowledge. Bernard listened in silence, save for an occasional e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n, which showed how difficult he found it to keep his promise not to interrupt. "And I think Mark was about right to keep these things from you, Bernard," said Conniston, when he ended. "For you are in a wax hearing them now."

"And who wouldn't be in a wax?" demanded Gore, furiously. "Look at the way in which I have been treated. Beryl has made me a scape-goat for his own wickedness. I have been compelled to hide my head. I have been accused of an awful crime--my reputation has been ruined. I should think I am furious, and I have a right to be."

"Bernard! Bernard!" said d.i.c.k, shaking his smooth head, "your troubles have taught you little. It was your furious temper that led you to fight with Sir Simon. You then said words which made it probable to outsiders that you committed this crime. And now, when all is on the eve of being cleared up, you have as bad a temper as ever."

"But think of that man Michael masquerading as me," went on Bernard, determined to speak out. "It was bad enough in London, but that he should dare to come to Alice--oh!" in an access of rage he shook his fist. Then he sat down to recover himself. "You are right, d.i.c.k," he remarked, wiping his forehead, "I'm a fool. I'll never learn wisdom.

Heaven knows I have had a severe lesson. I will try and control this beastly temper of mine. But, after all, seeing that I love Alice so much, it is not to be wondered at that I should be annoyed at another man taking my place."

"He didn't," replied Conniston, calmly and soothingly. "Miss Malleson guessed the truth about him straight off. She has only used him as an instrument to learn what she could. Don't you fuss, Bernard. What we have to do is to question Judas, and see if he can supplement the revelations of Michael, your half-brother."

"Don't talk about that fellow being my half-brother."

"Well, he is, isn't he?"

"Yes, but--well, I suppose I should rather pity than blame the chap."

"I think so too," said d.i.c.k gravely. "Miss Berengaria says there is much good in him. She intends to a.s.sist him when she can."

"I shall help him also," said Bernard, after a pause. "The poor fellow can't help his birth, and I owe him something for the way in which my father behaved to his mother."

"This is a change of temper," laughed Conniston.

"Oh, I soon get into a rage and soon get over it," rejoined Gore, impatiently. "But we must examine this boy, d.i.c.k. He won't answer me though. I have been asking him plenty of questions."

"He'll answer me," said Conniston, rising. "I know about the poisoning.

He won't face that."

"But did he really----"

"Yes, he did. I told you he was an imp of darkness, though, to be sure, I never expected he'd begin to murder people at his tender age. Come along, Bernard, show me the captive."

Gore led the way from the room and along a narrow pa.s.sage. At the end of this was a door, which he opened. It led into a large empty room, but no sooner was the door opened, than a small boy darted out and endeavored to get away. He ran straight into Conniston's arms.

"Now then, young Judas," said d.i.c.k, setting the boy on his legs and giving him a good shake. "Come and be tried."

"My lord," gasped Jerry, who was pale with terror, and who had red eyes and disordered hair.

"Yes! I know all about your poisoning, young man."

Jerry dropped on his knees. "I didn't," he declared, "oh lor, I really didn't. Miss Plantagenet ordered the tea. She gave me the cup I----"

"Here," said Conniston, giving him another shake, "stop that rubbish, you young beast. You dare to say such things of my aunt, who has been so kind to you. Hanging is too good for such a scamp. Come along, and answer our questions."

But Jerry, grovelling on the floor, embraced Conniston's riding-boots in an agony of terror. "Oh, please," he whimpered, "I didn't mean to do any harm. Mr. Beryl gave me some white stuff and told me to give it in tea to the sick gentleman. I thought it would do him good!"

With great disgust d.i.c.k picked up the young liar in his arms and carried him kicking to the sitting-room, followed by Bernard. When the door was closed, Bernard locked it, and there was no chance of Jerry getting away, as the window was thirty feet from the ground. Gore took a seat in one arm-chair and Conniston threw himself into the other, after flinging Jerry on the hearth-rug. The boy lay there, kicking and howling, nearly out of his wits with terror.

"Shut up!" said d.i.c.k, sharply. "You have to answer questions."

"I sha'n't," said Jerry. "You'll hang me."

"There's no chance of that, worse luck," said Conniston, regretfully.

On hearing this, the boy sat up. "Isn't he dead?" he asked eagerly.

"Oh!" mocked Bernard, "and you thought the white stuff would do the sick gentleman good--you young scoundrel! No. He isn't dead, Lord Conniston says, but small thanks to you."

"Oh!" Jerry seemed at once relieved and disappointed. "I won't get the two thousand pounds now."

"And you won't be hanged either, though you richly deserve it."