“That’s a pity—but it can’t be helped,” said Henderson, in increasing agitation. “But—did anyone hear the answer she sent me?”
“Yes, she walked straight back into the bar with your letter in her hand after she had read it, and her eyes were just blazing in her head. ‘Tell him I will be there,’ she said, and the fellows heard it as well as me.”
Again Henderson wiped his brow.
“She may have gone—I can’t say anything about it, you know. I never went near, but that note may get me into some trouble. Jack, I’ll make it worth your while to hold your tongue—to say nothing about the note, as only you knew it was from me.”
“I knew,” answered Jack, doggedly.
“Yes, of course you knew, but you must not mention this to anyone. I’ll give you as much as five pounds—”
“Ten would suit me better.”
“Well, I’ll make it ten, then. If anyone asks who gave you the note, say a stranger you met on the road gave you a shilling to deliver it to Miss Wray. Do you understand? Put it on a stranger, and you shall have ten pounds, for I do not wish to be mixed up in this matter at all.”
“I can well understand that.”
“You see, Jack, she may have gone to meet me, and when she found I was not there she may have shot herself. She is shot, you say?”