"Yes," said Uncle Rob, mechanically.
"Prepared for anything he is," Lambert went on. "I call that sensible and manly; but he's been that all through. So what I say is, to save a scene, wouldn't it be a good thing to get your wife and daughter out of the way?"
"How?"
"Well, by letting them go home by themselves. When two women are together like that, with trouble ahead, they're a comfort to each other. They must be tired out of their lives sitting in that stuffy court all day. A pair of bricks I call them; I should be proud, I should indeed, Robson, if they were my wife and daughter. Proud you must be of them--in a melancholy way, as things are, but that's natural under the circumstances. Wheedle them home, Robson, and let us get the business over quietly."
Uncle Rob knew what was meant by "the business." "It's decided upon, then," he said.
"Yes, and I've got the warrant in my pocket."
"Whatever the verdict is?"
"Whatever the verdict is."
"Is there anything against him," asked Uncle Rob, with a sinking heart, "beyond what has come out in the inquest?"
"Nothing; but that is supposed to be enough to commence with. Get the ladies away quietly, just whisper a word to him, and we'll walk along as comfortably as possible, and no one the wiser. I've kept it snug on purpose for your sake."