“I bought these from John Walter the day before yesterday,” he continued. “I gave him two hundred pounds for them. The money was just in time. He caught a steamer for Australia late in the afternoon. I had this wireless from him this morning.”
Sir Timothy studied the two documents, read the wireless. There was little change in his face. Only for a single moment his lips quivered.
“What does this mean?” he asked, rising to his feet with the documents in his hand.
“It means that those papers are yours to do what you like with. I drafted the second one so that you should be absolutely secure against any further attempt at blackmail. As a matter of fact, though, Walter is on his last legs. I doubt whether he will live to land in Australia.”
“You know that I killed Oliver Hilditch?” Sir Timothy said, his eyes fixed upon the other's.
“I know that you killed Oliver Hilditch,” Francis repeated. “If I had been Margaret's father, I think that I should have done the same.”
Sir Timothy seemed suddenly very much younger. The droop of his lips was no longer pathetic. There was a little humourous twitch there.
“You, the great upholder of the law?” he murmured.
“I have heard the story of Oliver Hilditch's life,” Francis replied. “I was partially responsible for saving him from the gallows. I repeat what I have said. And if you will—”
He held out his hand. Sir Timothy hesitated for one moment. Instead of taking it, he laid his hand upon Francis' shoulder.