"It's a story to entertain," he answered, licking his lips. "He was over eighty, but he'd kept all his faculties, else ther'd been no joy in killing him. A week since, I went to him invisible, entering the house with my blood cousin, now the Earl, soon after midnight returning from a carousal. He did not see me, of course, and I took care not to let him hear. But little care was needed, the degenerate was filthy drunk. It was easy to find the old earl's room, the young man got so sober passing it. The door was unlocked, too, so I had no trouble first and last. I went over to the old chap's bed and looked at him and laughed to see. He slept with his mouth wide and his toothless gums were hideously funny. His teeth were in a glass of H2O beside the bed. I pulled his nose to waken him, having first turned on the lights full. Then I played the ghost of my dead father. 'Your hour is come,' says I. 'I'm the spirit of your bastard son come to warn you.' He shook all over, palsied with fear. 'No--no--no,' he gasped, 'I'm not fit to die.' 'You're not fit to live,' I whispered, stern as fate. 'How have you treated the son of your bastard son? Have you been kind to him and helped him in the world.' 'Mercy, mercy!' he whined. 'I know I have been remiss, but give one more chance--another year--a week--a day--and I'll do my duty. I'll bar the entail, I'll give him all.' "'Wretch!' I hissed--and sat me on his chest. It was heaven sweet to hear his stifled moans. He did not struggle at all. And my only regret was it was so soon over. He broke a vessel and smothered in his own blood. The papers announced next day that he had died of the syncope of senility peacefully while sleeping. Ha, ha, ha!" I echoed the heartless villain's laugh, croaking out guffaws. The sound irritated him. "Stop that raucous row!" he ordered. "Then stop telling me funny stories, or else give me something to drink!" I snapped. He sprang afoot at once. "Lord!" he cried, "I'm not proposing to starve you to death. Why the deuce did you not remind me? You've been--let's see--sixty hours without food." "Sixty!" I gasped. "Impossible." "It's a fact," he said, and stalked out of the room. But he returned within a few minutes carrying a tray set with cold meats and wine which he set on a little table and wheeled before me. Then he freed my right hand and stood over me with a revolver while I ate. But I could not eat at once, for the good reason that my arm was paralyzed, and minutes passed before I could make use of it. Even then it pained like a raw scald. But I suppressed a reference to its condition and at the earliest instant cleared the board in the fashion of a famished wolf. Afterwards he bound me up again, standing behind me to do it, out of respect for my strength, no doubt. Then he put up his pistol and resumed his chair.