"To make his statement and obtain a warrant for the real criminal," said Mr. Thaxton.
Mr. Dockett indulged in a quiet chuckle.
"That's good," he said. "Why, you would have played into Captain M.'s hands. Nothing would have been nicer for him."
"How so?" asked Mr. Thaxton.
"Why, thus," said Mr. Dockett. "You go, we'll say, to Tenby; you take this precious old rascal before a magistrate. What he does is to issue a warrant for the arrest of Mr. Leicester, and one for the captain. The captain surrenders, of course, and comes up for examination. He braves it out, declares the whole thing is a plant to get Mr. Leicester out of the scrape, says Job has been bribed, and defies you to produce a tittle of evidence against him. You can't, you know, not at present; the magistrate says he must discharge the captain, who leaves the court without a stain upon his honor. Meanwhile Mr. Leicester comes up, all the evidence already against him is produced, the nasty impression of the attempt to incriminate the captain is brought to bear, and Mr. Leicester is committed for trial. All the while between the examination and the trial we rake up more evidence, and the whole thing is brought to a conclusion."
"As how?" said Mr. Thaxton, who was deeply impressed by the detective's argument.
"Mr. Leicester is hung for the murder of James Starling, and Captain Murpoint—or rather Sir Howard Murpoint, M. P.—marries the wealthy Miss Mildmay, and lives happy ever afterward."
Leicester rose to his full height stern and threatening.
"One word more of such impertinence, sir, and I fling you out of the cart! How dare you make use of that lady's name, sir?"
"Whew!" exclaimed Mr. Dockett. "You haven't heard the news."