The lawyer winced at the satirical emphasis placed on the name, but judged it wise to humor the old man. Kerry, as he called himself now, could be very obstinate and disagreeable when he chose, so knowing his powers in this respect Hilliston wisely conducted the conversation on as broad lines as was possible. Nevertheless, he carried the war into the enemy's camp by blaming Kerry for not taking better care of the bundle of papers which, through his negligence, had fallen into the hands of Jenny. "And how was I to know, sir?" retorted Kerry querulously. "The papers were safely put away in the garret, and Miss Jenny had no call to go there." "Well, Kerry, you see what it has led to. The account of the tragedy is all over London." "And what of that, sir? Wasn't the account of it all over Horriston twenty-five years ago?" "No doubt," said Hilliston coolly; "but that is all over and done with. It is useless to dwell on the past and its errors. But now Captain Larcher's son is bent on finding out the truth." "And why shouldn't he, sir?" "I don't think you need ask the question, Kerry," replied the lawyer, in so significant a tone that the old servant turned away his head. "It is not desirable that Claude Larcher should be enlightened. We know what took place on that night if no one else does, and for more reasons than one it is advisable that we should keep our knowledge to ourselves." "Augh," said Kerry gruffly, "you don't want it known that you were in the garden on that night, sir?" "I do not," answered Hilliston, with hasty emphasis. "I spoke falsely at the trial to save Mrs. Larcher. I rather think you did so yourself, Kerry." "For the master's sake--for the master's sake! As for the mistress she brought all the trouble on our heads. I lied, sir, and you lied, but she wasn't worth it. But is there to be trouble over it now, Mr. Hilliston?" "No. Not if you baffle the inquiries of those young men at the Manor House. They will meet you and question you, and get the truth out of you if they can. Whether they do or not all depends upon yourself." "You leave it to me, sir," said Kerry confidently. "I'll manage to send them away without being a bit the wiser. And now, Mr. Hilliston, that this is settled, I would speak to you about my sister Mona." Hilliston changed color, but nevertheless retained sufficient composure to fix his eyes on the man's face with a sad smile. "What of her, Kerry?" he asked, in a melancholy tone; "you know she is dead and gone." "Augh! Augh! But her grave, sir. You must tell me where it is, for I have it in my mind to go and see it." "What would be the good of you doing that," said Hilliston disapprovingly. "Because I was harsh with her, sir. If she did wrong, she suffered for it, and it was wicked of me to let her go as I did. Where is her grave, sir?"