“To gorge on which you would pilfer a stone worth £70,000? You see I play out my hand squarely, making no pretence of misreading your motives.” The tall rascal smiled. “As to that,” he said, “I must do honour to your profound penetration. Yes, sir, the ‘Lake of Wine’ is what I am after; and, for the rest, a passion is none that halts on the hither side of satiety. You could understand spending a thousand, or fifty thousand pounds on horses; but horses die, sir, or breed-in and degenerate, whereas written words beget great thoughts that in their turn intermarry and beget greater.” “Well, Mr. Brander--and do you propose that I give you this stone to buy books with?” “I propose to come to terms with you on the subject.” “Terms (you must really forgive my outspokenness) from a cut-purse and a cut-throat?--terms from one who has no shadow of a title to the gem, or, even if he had, has attempted to enforce it by means ridiculously illegal? Upon my word, sir, for a school-master----!” Brander waved a tolerant but extremely dirty hand. “I will question you, Mr. Tuke,” he said. “Why am I a cut-throat?” “Ah! had I been a scholar of yours, I might answer, maybe.” “A mere veil of satire to conceal a paucity of proof. Why, sir, why, I ask?” “You are insistent. Shall we suggest--apart from reasonable surmise as to your general career--that you had a hand, say twenty years ago, in the murder of a colleague under these very gallows?” “Twenty years ago I was acting usher at a school.” “Oh! we won’t be particular to a day or two.” Mr. Brander straddled his legs, knuckled one fist upon his hip under his coat-skirt, and with his other hand rasped his chin meditatively. “Well,” said he, “give a dog a bad name. ’Tis all of second importance. Only, being so, ’tis scarce worth an untruth. Sir, I regard lies as strong waters--the more regularly indulged in, the weaker is their effect when needed. This is no particular occasion for one. I had no hand in the man Cutwater’s death. I had not then any shadowy knowledge, even, of the great stone or the concealment of it that brought about his fate.” “Nor of the admirable Mr. Fern?” “Nor of Jack Fern, who alone, I believe, of the original gang survives.” “You interest me vastly. Then, I protest it is a fatuous policy of that gentleman to make him new confidants in the secret, when, had he worked alone, he might have aimed at securing all for himself--as you are doing. But you really flatter my credulity.” “Let it pass, then.” “And pray why did Mr. Fern never return to the assault?” “I had the story in rough from him in Newgate (where we were confined together in ’86), that he was put in for an old affair before the other scandal had blown by, and that there he had remained ever since, his band dispersed or tied up;--and the year after, he went to Botany Bay along with Governor Phillip and his fleet of off-scourings, and----”