Now, this was a question Mr. Byrd could not and would not answer. After what had just passed in the hut, he felt it impossible to mention to this man the name of Imogene Dare in connection with that of the nephew of Mrs. Clemmens. He therefore waived the other's interrogation and remarked:
"My knowledge was rather the fruit of surmise than fact. I did not believe in the guilt of Gouverneur Hildreth, and so was forced to look about me for some one whom I could conscientiously suspect. I fixed upon this unhappy man in Buffalo; how truly, your own suspicions, unfortunately, reveal."
"And I had to have my wits started by a horrid old woman," murmured the evidently abashed Hickory.
"Horrid old woman!" repeated Mr. Byrd. "Not Sally Perkins?"
"Yes. A sweet one, isn't she?"
Mr. Byrd shuddered.
"Tell me about it," said he, coming and sitting down in the seat the other had previously indicated to him.
"I will, sir; I will: but first let's look at the weather. Some folks would think it just as well for you to change that toggery of yours. What do you say to going home first, and talking afterward?"
"I suppose it would be wise," admitted Mr. Byrd, looking down at his garments, whose decidedly damp condition he had scarcely noticed in his excitement. "And yet I hate to leave this spot till I learn how you came to choose it as the scene of the tragi-comedy you have enacted here to-day, and what position it is likely to occupy in the testimony which you have collected against this young man."
"Wait, then," said the bustling fellow, "till I build you the least bit of a fire to warm you. It won't take but a minute," he averred, piling together some old sticks that cumbered the hearth, and straightway setting a match to them. "See! isn't that pleasant? And now, just cast your eye at this!" he continued, drawing a comfortable-looking flask out of his pocket and handing it over to the other with a dry laugh. "Isn't this pleasant?" And he threw himself down on the floor and stretched out his hands to the blaze, with a gusto which the dreary hour he had undoubtedly passed made perfectly natural, if not excusable.