"Mrs. Gilroy and Julius would stop any letters," said Bernard, "that is, if she is hostile to me, which she may be. I am not sure of her attitude." "What is the legend of the Red Window?" asked Durham. "It's too long a story to tell," said Bernard, glancing at the clock, which pointed to a quarter to ten, "and I'm due at barracks. I'll tell you about it on another occasion. Meantime--" "Meantime," said Durham, rising, "I advise you to drop red windows and legends and go down to see Sir Simon boldly. A short interview will put everything right." "And might put everything wrong." "No," said Durham, earnestly, "believe me, your grandfather will be more easy to deal with than you think. I am his solicitor and I dare not say much, but I advise you to see him as soon as you can. The sooner the better, since Beryl is a dangerous enemy to have." "Well, Lucy is my friend." "And Mrs. Gilroy your enemy along with Beryl." "I'm not so sure of that," began Gore, when Conniston lounged towards him with a letter. "You give that to Mrs. Moon," said he, "and she will put you up and hold her tongue and make things pleasant. But don't say I am in town, as I have not dated the letter." "Does she think you are in America?" asked Bernard, putting the letter into his pocket, and promising to use it should occasion offer. "Yes. She thinks a great deal of the West family," said Conniston, taking another glass of kümmel, "and she would howl if she heard I was a mere private. And I don't know but what she may not know. I saw that young brute of a Judas when I left you the other day, Bernard." "Judas?" echoed Durham, who was unlocking the spirit-stand. Conniston sat down and stretched out his legs. "He's Mrs. Moon's grandson. Jerry Moon is his name--but he's such a young scoundrel that I call him Judas as more appropriate. I got him a place with Taberley, the tobacconist, but he took money or something and was kicked out. The other day when I met him he was selling matches. I gave him half a sovereign to go back to his grandmother, so by this time I expect he's at Cove Castle telling her lies. I instructed him to hold his tongue about my soldiering." "Why didn't you send him to me?" said Mark. "I would have frightened him, and made him hold his tongue." "If you could frighten Judas you could frighten his father, the Old 'Un down below," said Conniston, laughing. "He's what the Artful Dodger would call a young Out-and-Outer; a kind of Jack Sheppard in grain. He'll come your way yet, Mark, passing by on his journey to the gallows. He's only thirteen, but a born criminal. He'll hold his tongue about me so long as it suits him, and sell me to make a sixpence. Oh, he's a delightful young scamp, I promise you!"