That Conseltine knew of Moya’s claim to the title Peebles gave her was only a shrewd guess of the latter’s, but the start and pallor with which Conseltine heard the words showed the old man that the shaft had struck home.
‘The mill,’ continued Peebles, ‘was fired by you and your son there, in complicity wi’ one Feagus, the lawyer, wi’ the object of destroying the unfortunate lady, your brother’s wife.’
Richard gave a sort of feeble gulp at this, and cowered terror-stricken on the bed.
‘It’s by no virtue o’ yours, Mr. Conseltine, that your wicked will was not worked. Moya Macartney, Lady Kilpatrick, is alive and safe. She was rescued from death by her son, Desmond Conseltine, sole lawfully begotten son and heir of my master, Lord Kilpatrick.’
‘Damn you!’ cried Richard, leaping from the bed at these words with a flash of hysteric anger conquering his fears.
‘Hold your tongue!’ said the elder man quietly. ‘Don’t play the fool, Richard Conseltine.’
Peebles looked at him with a kind of loathing admiration of his courage and coolness.
‘If you’ve any more to say, Mr. Peebles,’ Conseltine continued, ‘you’d better get it over.’
‘Just this,’ said the old man: ‘ye’ll hold your tongue about the business till I see fit to speak. Ye’ll cease to trade on his lordship’s generosity, and rob the poor lad ye’ve kept out of his rights all these years, and the poor woman ye’ve tried to murder. And if in a day or two ye can manage to find some business o’ sufficient importance to tak’ ye awa’ oot o’ this place, and to keep ye awa’ oot o’t for the rest o’ your natural lives, so much the better. I don’t think,’ he added reflectively, as he scraped his lean jaws thoughtfully with his long fingers--‘I don’t think there’s any ither thing to be arranged. Ye’d better keep clear o’ Blake, perhaps.’
‘One word, Mr. Peebles,’ said Conseltine, as the old man turned to go.
‘When do you intend to break to my brother the news of--of that woman being alive?’
‘I canna preceesely tell ye,’ returned Peebles. ‘As soon’s I think he’s strong enough to hear it. In the mean time, Mr. Conseltine, ye’d best ca’ cannie. I’m secret in the game till ye try another move; but if ye do, I’ll split on ye, as sure as God’s in heaven!’