"Humph!" Miss Berengaria rubbed her nose. "I don't think a man who would commit a murder would tell the truth. My flesh creeped when I touched him. All the same, there's pluck in the fellow. A pity he is such a scamp. Something might be made of him." "Do you think he has got himself up like this to--" "No, no!" snapped Miss Plantagenet, "the man's illness is genuine. I can see for myself, he's only skin and bone. I wonder how he came to be in such a plight?" "Perhaps he will tell us." "He'll tell lies," said the old lady, grimly. "And for the sake of Bernard we'll pretend to believe him. Wait till I get Durham on to him. He won't lie then. But the main point is to keep him. He is the only person who can get Bernard out of the trouble." "What shall we do, aunt?" "Nurse him up in that room, telling the servants that we have a guest. They need not see him. And Payne can cure him. When he is cured we will see what Durham says. That young man's clever. He will know how to deal with the matter. It's beyond me. Now we must go to bed. My head is in a whirl with the excitement of this day." CHAPTER XVII THE DIARY Before Miss Berengaria could communicate with Durham, he had left the castle for town. On hearing this from Bernard, the old lady at once sent up to him a full report of the arrival of Michael at the Bower under the name of Gore. "He is now a trifle better," wrote Miss Berengaria, "but having suffered from great privations he is still ill, and, so far as I can see, is likely to keep to his bed for some time. Payne is attending to him and says he needs careful nursing and tonics. He is so weak as to be scarcely able to talk, which is perhaps all the better, as Alice and I might arouse his suspicions. We have accepted him as Bernard, and when you come down you can question him either in that character or as Michael. To tell you the truth, I am sorry for the boy--he is only twenty-one or thereabouts, and I think he has been misguided. After all, even he may not have committed the crime, although he was certainly with Sir Simon on that fatal night. The servants--with the exception of my own especial maid, Maria Tait--know nothing of the man's presence in the turret chamber. And you may be sure that I am taking care Jerry Moon learns nothing. But I shall be glad when you can come down to take the matter out of my hands. I am much worried over it. Conniston comes over daily to see Lucy Randolph at the Hall, but he is so feather-brained a creature that I don't care about entrusting such a secret to him. Nor do I wish Bernard to know. With his impetuosity, he would probably come over at once, and run the chance of arrest. The whole matter is in your hands, Durham, so write and tell me what I am to do. At all events I have a fast hold of Bernard's