Durham pinched his chin and eyed Conniston. "I can't understand what his game is myself," he said slowly. "Of course, so far as looks go, the fellow is the double of Bernard without the distinguishing mark of the mole." "You have seen him then?" "Yes. A day or two ago. I asked Miss Plantagenet to pretend that she and Miss Malleson believed him to be Bernard. They have done so with such success that the boy--he is no more, being younger than Bernard--is lying in bed in the turret-room quite under the impression that he has bamboozled the lot of us. Of course," added Durham, looking down, "he may be trusting to his illness to still further increase the likeness to Bernard, which, I may say, is sufficiently startling, and to supply any little differences." "That's all jolly fine," said Dick, getting astride of a chair in his excitement, "but Bernard and Alice, being lovers, must have many things in common about which this man can't know anything." "Quite so. And Miss Malleson knew he wasn't Bernard, seeing that the real man is at your castle. But even without that knowledge I don't think she would long have been deceived. Michael, putting aside his marvellous resemblance, is a common sort of man and not at all well educated. If you can image Bernard as one of the common people, without education and polish, you have Michael." "What a nerve that Michael must have. How does he carry it off?" Durham shrugged his shoulders. "The poor chap is not in a condition to carry off anything," he said; "he's lying pretty well worn out in bed, and Payne says it will be a long time before he is himself. I think he is simply pleased to know he has been accepted as Bernard, and is glad to postpone an explanation in case he'll be turned out." "There's no danger of that," said Dick. "My aunt wouldn't turn out a cat in that state, much less a human being." "Oh, Miss Berengaria seems to have taken quite a fancy to the man. She declares there's pluck in him, and----" "But seeing he is a criminal--a murderer----" "We don't know that he is, Conniston, and this"--Durham laid his hand on the diary--"goes to prove his innocence." "Bosh!" said Dick, jumping up. "I believe Mrs. Gilroy prepared that diary and left it out so that Miss Randolph would drop across it. If anyone killed Sir Simon it was Michael." "Or Beryl." "He was at the theatre." "I know, but he managed to get the deed done by someone else. I really can't give an opinion yet, Conniston," said Durham resuming his seat, with a shrug; "to-morrow, when I see this Italian, I may learn something likely to throw light on the case. Meantime go back and tell Bernard I am working hard." "That goes without the speaking," said his lordship, lightly; "we know what a worker you are, Mark. But Bernard wishes to take a hand in the game." "Then he shall not do so," said Durham, sharply. "If he appears at this juncture all will be lost. I have a plan," he added, hesitating.