“Maybe you'd come again; maybe you'd give me five minutes another time?” whispered Meekins, submissively, in Frank's ear.
“I think not,” said Frank, with an easy significance in his look; “perhaps, on reflection, you'll find that I have come once too often!” And with these words he left the cell, and, in silent meditation, returned to his companion.
“The fellow's voice was loud and menacing when I came to the door,” said Gray, as they walked along.
“Yes, he grew excited just at that moment; he is evidently a passionate man,” was Frank's reply; and he relapsed into his former reserve.
Grounsell, who at first waited with most exemplary patience for Frank to narrate the substance of his interview, at last grew weary of his reserve, and asked him what had occurred between them.
Frank paid no attention to the question, but sat with his head resting on his hand, and evidently deep in thought. At last he said slowly,——
“Can you tell me the exact date of Mr. Godfrey's murder?”
“To the day,—almost to the hour,” replied Grounsell. Taking out his pocket-book, he read, “It was on a Friday, the 11th of November, in the year 18——.”
“Great God!” cried Frank, grasping the other's arm, while his whole frame shook with a strong convulsion. “Was it, then, on that night?”
“Yes,” said the other, “the murder took place at night. The body, when discovered the next morning, was perfectly cold.”