ngly.

But George St. Mabyn did not speak; instead, he stood staring at his
brother with terror-stricken eyes.

'You thought I was dead, eh?' and there was a laugh in Maurice St.
Mabyn's voice. 'I'm worth a good many dead men yet.'

Again he looked around the room until his eyes rested upon Springfield,
who had been watching his face from the moment of his entrance.

'By Jove, St. Mabyn,' he cried, and I could see he was fighting for
self-mastery; 'but you have played us a trick. Here have we all been
wasting good honest grief on you. But--but--I am glad, old man.
I--I----'

His speech ended in a gasp. His words seemed to be frozen by the cold
glitter of Maurice St. Mabyn's eyes. Never in my whole life have I
seen so much contempt, so much loathing in a man's face as I saw in the
face of the new-comer at that moment. But he did not speak. He simply
turned on his heel, and addressed Sir Thomas Bolivick.

'You seem surprised, and something more than surprised at seeing me,
Sir Thomas,' he said; 'but you are glad to see me, aren't you?'

'Glad!' cried the old man. 'Glad! Why, God bless my soul, Maurice!
I--I--but--but glad?'--and he began to mop his eyes vigorously.

'I think there'll be a lot of explanations by and by,' went on
Maurice,' especially after I've had a chat with my old friend, Jack
Carbis, over there. Jack, you rascal, you've a lot to tell me, haven't
you? By the way, George,'--and he gave Springfield a glance,--'I
understand that this fellow is a guest at St. Mabyn. Will you tell
him, as you seem friendly with him, that my house is not good for his
health.'

Springfield looked from one to another like a man in despair. The
coming of Maurice St. Mabyn had been such a confirmation of all that
Jack Carbis had said, that he saw no loophole of escape anywhere. But
this was only for a moment. Even in his defeat the man's character as
a fighter was evident.

'St. Mabyn,' he said hoarsely, 'I swear by Heaven that you are
mistaken! Of course I was mistaken--and--and no one is gladder than
I--that you have turned up. Give me fair play,--give me a chance--give
me time, and I'll clear up everything!'

'Will you tell the fellow,' and Maurice St. Mabyn still spoke to his
brother, 'that a motor-car will be placed at his disposal to take him
to any place he chooses to go. Tell him, too, that I do not propose
to--to have anything to do with him in any way unless he persists in
hanging on to yo