“Young man,” said the voice, very low, but quite audible, “take my advice: control your temper. If you stab a warder they will have a pretext to keep you here all your lifetime.” “Ah,” said Aymer; “thank you, I understand. But who are you?—who _are_ you?” “I am a young old man. Who are you?” “I am a young man,” said Aymer, growing curious, and for the moment forgetting his position. “My name you know—I can’t tell how. I come from World’s End.” “Ah!” said the voice, sadly; “I had hoped you were sane.” “So I am.” “Why then say you came from the world’s end?” “I did not. I said from World’s End; it is a place near Bury Wick.” “You are sane then so far. I know _that_ World’s End very well. I only tried you. I overheard your name when you were carried in. Now, answer me. Why are you here?” “There, that is what I want to know.” “If you do not know, you are not sane. Cannot you see the motive for your confinement?” “Certainly I can. It is easy to see that.” And Aymer briefly related the circumstances. “And where is your Violet?” “Doubtless at Belthrop, or spirited away—perhaps abroad. Far enough from me, at all events.” “Not so: she is in this very place.” “I don’t believe it. They would keep her away.” “I am sure of it. What should you do if you got out?” “I should go straight to Belthrop—or, stay, perhaps I should go to Mr Broughton. He would protect me.” “Broughton—ah! he is a lawyer. I see you are sane. I must have a look at you. Turn your face towards the picture of the ‘Last Supper.’” Wondering and yet curious, Aymer did as he was bid. On the wall above a side-board was a large copy of Vinci’s “Last Supper.” In a few seconds the voice came again; and soon he found it came from the picture. “I see you. I have read you. You have talent, perhaps genius; but your chin is weak. You know not how to fight men. You do not comprehend that men are beasts, and that it is necessary to be always fighting them. Still you are sane, you are young—eat, and get strong—you will do. Your name is familiar to me. Who was your father?” Aymer told him. The voice replied—“I knew him—a clever man, and, excuse me, a fool. How came you to reside at World’s End?” Aymer told him. “But who are you?” he said, eagerly. “Let me see you also.” “Very well. Look at the dog under the table in the picture. Now.” Aymer saw a slender white finger suddenly protruded through the body of the dog. “But I only see your finger.” “Well, that is me. Don’t you know that the hand is the man, and the claw is the beast? You can see by my finger that I have a hand.” It was evident that the stranger was proud of his white hand and slender finger. “Who on earth are you?” said Aymer, beginning to get excited. “If you do not answer me I will pull the picture down.” “If you do, you will ruin us both.” “Well, tell me who you are.” “I am a prisoner like yourself. My name is, or was, for I am dead now, Fulk Lechester.”