"But how did he come to harm, if it was not a kick on the head from the gun he did not know how to manage? I could have told him how to handle it better. My gun, too—"
"Your gun!"
"Yes, my gun. I left it behind the door, in the passage, when he sent me out. He took it when it was dangerous to stay longer. I saw it in his hand before you came out. He was armed—you were not."
"I took the gun," said Jessup.
"You will swear to that!" said Storms, really amazed. "You believe it?"
"I took the gun. It went off by chance. That is all I have to say. Now leave me, young man, for so much talk is more than I can bear."
Storms obeyed. He had not only gained all the information he wanted, but the material for new mischief had been supplied to a brain that was strong to work out evil. He found Ruth in the passage, walking up and down, wild and pale with distress. She gave him a look that might have softened a heart of marble, but only increased his self-gratulation.
"Just let me ask this," he said, coming close to her, with a sneer on his face. "Which of those two men took out the gun I left standing behind the door that night—father or sweetheart? One or the other will have to answer for it. Which would you prefer to have hanged?"
The deadly whiteness which swept over that young face only deepened the cruel sneer that had brought it forth. Bending lower down, the wretch added, "I saw it all. I know which it was that fired the shot. Now what will you give me to hold my tongue?"
Ruth could not speak; but her eyes, full of shrinking fear, were fixed upon him.