Gareth looked at the outstretched hand. He very much wanted to tell young Mr. Blacke to go to hell. He also knew that that outstretched hand really hurt when it was balled into a fist. He took the hand, groaning in pain as he rose to his feet.

He took a few seconds to catch his breath. He wanted to sit down, but dared not ask for it. He certainly did not dare to run, he realized. If he hadn't managed to outrun the young man before, there was no chance of doing so now. Instead, he swept the worst dirt off his clothes and straightened them. He hadn't punctured his lung. He could breathe well enough. His side hurt like hell though.

"Don't shoot the messenger. Like I said, I decided against publishing it, even if it is the juiciest thing I've ever come across. For your sister-in-law's sake if no one else. She didn't deserve everything that's happened to her." He realized this introduction could be seen as stalling and he didn't care to have another close inspection of Mr. Blacke's knuckles and so he hurried into it: "Your father was sentenced for garroting when he was a kid. Nearly killed the chap. Went to prison, then a reformatory. I honestly thought you knew. The catch is, his victim was a relative of Miss Pearl's. Would have made the story of a century. But I didn't publish it." He held up his hands. "I'm on your side."