"Tell her what you like!" said the captain, pleasantly. "I have nothing to confess! Now, what is the next charge?"
"The murder of James Starling, whom you are accused of stabbing and throwing over the cliff at Penruddie!"
The captain rose, white and desperate.
"You cannot prove it!" he said. "Where is your witness?"
"Here," said Mr. Dockett, and he beckoned toward the recess.
Out stepped Job, very pale, but very determined.
"I am a witness, captain," he said. "I see you in the master's room, and I see you going up the cliffs. It's all over, captain, for Jamie Sanderson found the knife—your knife—and this gentleman has got it clear and straight."
"It's a false, vile, concocted plot!" hissed the captain. "James Starling died by the hand of Leicester Dodson! I saw him do it! If he didn't do the murder, where is he? Why doesn't he come back like a man and prove his innocence? Not he! He's snug away somewhere, and he doesn't come back!"
"He does, and he is here!" said a voice, and the curtain was swept away by a strong hand—Leicester's own—as he stepped into the room and caught Violet in his arms.