"That
really was a game to you, I think, a trick you liked to play on us
respectables!"
He smiled at her confidentially. "I do like beating the respectables," he
admitted. Then he looked at his watch. "I must do what has to be done for
the old man. But it's late--hard on one o'clock. You must be tired--and
it's a sad job."
"No, I'll help you. I--I've been in hospitals, you know. Only do go
first, and cover up that horrible place, and hide that wretched money
before I go into the Tower. Will you?" She gave a shiver, as her
imagination renewed the scene which the Tower held.
"You needn't come into the Tower at all. He's as light as a feather--I've
lifted him into bed often. I can lift him now. If you really wish to
help, will you go up to his room, and get things ready?" As he spoke, he
crossed to the sideboard, took up a bedroom candlestick, and lighted it
from one that stood on the table. "And you'll see about the body being
taken to the mortuary, won't you? I shall communicate with the
Radbolts--fully; they'll take charge of the funeral, I suppose.
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