"Was she with you in Mr. Adams's study? Did she see him lift the dagger against his own breast?"
"No." And with this denial the young man seemed to take new courage. "She had fainted several moments previously, while the altercation between my brother and myself was at its height. She did not see the final act, and—gentlemen, I might as well speak the truth (I have nothing to gain by silence), she finds it as difficult as you do to believe that Mr. Adams struck himself. I—I have tried with all my arts to impress the truth upon her, but oh, what can I hope from the world when the wife of my bosom—an angel, too, who loves me—oh, sirs, she can never be a witness for me; she is too conscientious, too true to her own convictions. I should lose—she would die——"
Mr. Gryce tried to stop him; he would not be stopped.
"Spare me, sirs! Spare my wife! Write me down guilty, anything you please, rather than force that young creature to speak——"
Here the inspector cut short these appeals which were rending every heart present. "Have you read the newspapers for the last few days?" he asked.
"I? Yes, yes, sir. How could I help it? Blood is blood; the man was my brother; I had left him dying—I was naturally anxious, naturally saw my own danger, and I read them, of course."
"Then you know he was found with a large cross on his breast, a cross which was once on the wall. How came it to be torn down? Who put it on his bosom?"
"I, sir. I am not a Catholic but Felix was, and seeing him dying without absolution, without extreme unction, I thought of the holy cross, and tore down the only one I saw, and placed it in his arms."
"A pious act. Did he recognize it?"
"I cannot say. I had my fainting wife to look after. She occupied all my thoughts."