“To ask you something,” was the response.  “It’s this.  It’s every man for himself—­now that he’s gone.”

He jerked his thumb in the direction of the next room.  “He took this house for twelve months, and so it’ll have to be paid for.  Can I stop here for a bit?  I suppose it’s in your hands to say yes or no.”

His face was hard and expressionless as ever, but there was a new note in his voice which struck the lawyer’s keen ear—­an accent of supplication.  He looked at Thalassa thoughtfully.

“You wish to stay on here until you have made other arrangements for your future—­is that so?” he asked.

“That’s it,” was the brief reply.

Mr. Brimsdown felt there was more than that—­some deeper, secret reason.  Before granting the request it occurred to him to try and get what he could in exchange.  Self-interest is the strongest of human motives, and men wanting favours are in a mood to yield something in return.

“Well, Thalassa,” he said, amiably enough, but watching him with the eye of a hawk, “I do not think your request is altogether unreasonable—­in the circumstances.  I dare say it could be arranged.  I’ll try to do so, but I should like you to answer me one or two questions first.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Was your master’s daughter here—­in the house, I mean—­on the night of his death?”

Thalassa’s face hardened.  “You, too?” he said simply.  “I say again, as I said before, that she was not.”

“You said so,” rejoined Mr. Brimsdown softly.  “The question is—­are you telling the truth?  If you know anything of the events of that night you may be injuring Miss Turold by your silence.”

For a moment Mr. Brimsdown thought his appeal was going to succeed.  He could have sworn that a flicker of hesitation—­of irresolution—­crossed the old man’s stern countenance.  But the mood passed immediately, and it was in an indifferent voice that Thalassa, turning to go, replied—­

“If that’s what you’re reckoning on, I’d better go and pack my traps.”

“Oh, I don’t make that a condition,” replied the lawyer, acknowledging his defeat in a sporting spirit.  “You can remain here and look after the house until you decide what to do.  As Robert Turold’s old servant you are entitled to consideration.  I will help you afterwards, if you will let me know your plans.  I am sure that would have been your late master’s wish.”

“I want nothing from him,” Thalassa rejoined, “a damned black scoundrel.”

Mr. Brimsdown was shocked at this savage outburst, but there was something so implacable in the old man’s air that the rebuke he wished to utter died unspoken.  Thalassa regarded him for a moment in silence, and then went on—­

“Thank’ee for letting me stop on here a bit.  Now I’ll tell you something—­about him.”  Again his thumb indicated the next room.  “It was the night after.”