Who, then, could it be?
It was Phillip Redgill.
The place where he sat was shaded from the firelight so completely that he had a good view of each person’s countenance, but yet no one saw his own.
“You are mistaken, my friend,” said Redgill, at the conclusion of Captain Jack’s remarks, “you are mistaken; the murderer, Bob Bertram, was not in the carriage at all.”
“No!”
“Who dare dispute our word?”
“Who told you so?” said Bates, Faulkner, and Captain Jack in a breath, and in tones of annoyance.
“I did!” said Redgill, rising, “the murderer was not near the spot.”
“Not near the place?”
“No! he was sitting quietly in the parlour of a roadside inn during the whole of the fight.”