Mr. Elster laughed. "What is your name?"

"Tom Pike."

"I hear a great deal said of you, Pike, that's not pleasant; that you are
a poacher, and a--"

"Let them that say so prove it," interrupted Pike, his dark brows
contracting.

"But how do you manage to live?"

"That's my business, and not Calne's. At any rate, Mr. Elster, I don't
steal."

"I heard a worse hint dropped of you than any I have mentioned,"
continued Val, after a pause.

"Tell it out, sir. Let's have the whole catalogue at once."

"That the night my brother, Mr. Elster, was shot, you were out with the
poachers."

"I dare say you heard that I shot him, for I know it has been said,"
fiercely cried the man. "It's a black lie!--and the time may come when I
shall ram it down Calne's throat. I swear that I never fired a shot that
night; I swear that I no more had a hand in Mr. Elster's death than you
had. Will you believe me, sir?"