The chaise, with its occupants, was drawn up at a little distance from the tragic scene. As the horseman made for it, eager to reassure his friends that any cause for present alarm was passed, he was aware of a figure standing by the door and addressing those within in exceedingly tremulous tones. “I’ve had enough of it, curse me!” it was saying. “’Twould be a sick thing to travel with that dead rascal banging on the roof; and the cursed coachman refuses to go without him. I’ve been robbed of fifty pound, by God! and I’ll take it exceeding civil of you to give me a lift over the last stages.” “Indeed,” said Miss Angela’s clear voice--“we shall be very happy, Lord Dunlone.” “Who the deuce told you my name--who, now?” He could hardly stand still in his fear and excitement; but kept pulling at the handle of the door in a nervous effort to turn it. “Who told you?” he said. “Curse it! Can’t some one help me?” “Go steady at it,” came Sir David’s voice. “We’re not tryin’ to overreach you, sir. ’Twas a friend--common to both of us, I understand--Mr. Tuke, who saw you in the coach at Egham.” “Tuke--Tuke! I don’t know any one of the name. Here--give me a hand, will you?” He plunged into the vehicle, and the door snapped on him. The listener retreated softly into the rearward shadows. He had forgotten that this undesirable acquaintance was amongst the passengers; and it was some amelioration of the tragedy to hear that he had been stripped clean. He waited silent while the chaise kept its place--which it did only a few minutes before the nobleman’s peevish voice sounded, cursing the postillions to a move. Then he went to the help of the coach-driver; and, later, cantered out the rest of his journey in the tail of that gingerbread conveyance, that was become a mere hearse of death and sorrow. “Ah!” he thought--“how, in all her after-days, will she love the memory of that chin-chuck, poor soul.” CHAPTER XXX. “I have no knowledge,” said Creel--“I have no knowledge whatever, Mr. Tuke, of this ‘Lake of Wine.’ Very probably it was as you suggest. I was acquainted with the man’s character by report, of course, and judge it infinitely likely that he would have been the principal in a fraud so masterly ingenious. But that goes for nothing.” “Very well, sir. Then, by your permission, we will come to the matter which is of a greater private importance to me. Surely you cannot justify to yourself the fact of withholding evidence of my father’s integrity from my father’s son?” “And surely _you_ are hasty. Did I express such an intention. On the contrary, I am ready, at this date, to inform you of all the details I am in possession of as to Sir Robert’s bequest.” “And why not earlier? May I not ask it?” “Because, my ardent young sir, the time was not ripe. Because, having regard to the circumstances under which we first became intimate, I apprehended a distinct refusal on your part to accept of an advantage so strangely come by.”