“You haven’t; but—there—are—certain—parties—not—a—very—great—way—from—here—as—have,” said Captain Jack, very carelessly in the direction where Phillip sat.
Young Redgill felt the blood run coldly to his heart as he heard these words.
But he spoke not.
“Some one in this house?” asked the merchant, astonished.
“Yes, in this very house, and no other. Not only murder, mind you, but robbery,” said Captain Jack, very coolly. “And a pretty good haul the chap made of it, so I hear. He bagged lots of gold coin. Do you know old Bertram, of Four Ash Farm?”
“I do; he is my creditor to a large amount, and has to pay me heavy arrears on a mortgage I hold of him. I expect him in town every day.”
“You may expect a long time, then, for he’s the chap which was robbed and murdered.”
“Impossible!” said the old merchant, turning white. “What a horrid affair! And have they found out who did it?”
“Not exactly,” said Captain Jack; “but—I—think—I—can—find—out—afore—long,” he answered, slowly and ominously. “I’m coming to that point now. Have you a travelling collector in your house of the name of Bolton?”
“Bolton? Yes.”