"He threw something into the flames. But I couldn't see what that was."
"Did you afterwards find out?"
"No, sir."
Once more the prisoner attracted every eye. It was felt that he would make another of his reckless and voluntary declarations. But this time he was silent enough; and though the evidence now took a turn in his favour, that silence left its mark.
Everybody knew how the clergyman had risked his life, when it was too late, to save the church. But the story had not yet been told as Mr. Preston contrived to elicit it from the lips of Tom Ivey. The Rector of Linkworth had been from home when the fire took place. There was nothing unnatural in his desire for details, nor did he put an improper question. The chairman, however, betrayed more than a little impatience, while the junior justice, on the other hand, displayed excitement of another kind, and actually put in his word at last.
"Do you mean to say you let him throw the water single-handed," said he, "while the rest of you stayed outside?"
"There was no stopping him, sir," said Ivey. "He would have all the danger to himself."
"Then you could not see what use he made of the water?" suggested the chairman, dryly.
"No, sir," said Tom; "I could only see the steam." And his tone was still more dry.
Wilders looked at the clock as the examination concluded. The case had not been taken till the afternoon; it was now nearly five. Wilders beckoned and spoke to the inspector, subsequently addressing the prisoner in his coldest tone.