“We all are, we all are,” said Bartley Bradstone, with a deep sigh. “My wife especially——”
“Yes, I judged that by her visit here this morning,” said the colonel.
Bartley Bradstone started, and his face went pale, one might almost say green.
“She—she was here this morning!” he exclaimed. “Oh, yes,” he added, hastily, as the colonel colored and looked as if he could have bitten his tongue out. “Yes, I’d forgotten for the moment. Oh, yes, we are all doing what we can. Of course, he is innocent, poor fellow!”
The colonel shook his head gravely.
“I hope you will be able to convince a jury of that,” he said; “but——”
Bartley Bradstone sighed again.
“We shall leave no stone unturned, not one,” he said. “And you will send the letter? Thank you.”
He walked out of the office briskly, and down the street in the direction any one going straight with the letter must take. He turned a corner sharply, then pulled up, and, with a wildly beating heart, waited. Two, three minutes passed, then a policeman came round the road.
Bartley Bradstone waited until the man had reached the corner, then hurriedly ran against him.