"Why should I be?"
"He insulted Miss Enistor the other day in your presence and you threatened to kill him, I understand. Of course I am not a believer in your guilt," added the parson quickly, "as from what I have seen of you I do not think for a moment that you would shed the blood of a human being."
"Thank you," said Montrose simply, and extended his hand.
Sparrow took it with a flush on his parchment face. "It's all rubbish as I have said," he burst out with very human wrath. "And as you are staying at Tremore, undoubtedly you will be able to show that you did not see Señor Narvaez last night."
It was on the tip of Montrose's tongue to confess his visit, but something—perhaps common sense—prevented him from incriminating himself. Instead, a question sprang to his lips to which he was extremely anxious to get an answer. "What about Job Trevel?"
"There you are," said the vicar quickly. "A rough hot-tempered man like Job is much more likely to have done the deed, though God forbid I should accuse him or any one unjustly. Yet Job certainly hated Señor Narvaez on account of Rose Penwin, and uttered many threats against him. But when the news came of this murder, Mr. Montrose, I at once went to see Dame Trevel, remembering Job's enmity. She tells me that Job went out fishing last night early and has not returned. Therefore he cannot be guilty."
"Then who can have murdered Narvaez?"
"It is hard to say. Of course he lived in a lonely situation and had much wealth, if rumour is to be believed. We shall see when the police come from Perchton. They should be here soon. I believe that Mr. Enistor and our village constable have gone to the cottage to see the body. Meanwhile, Mr. Montrose, I advise you to return to Tremore and wait until we learn more. Señor Narvaez was no favourite, yet it is dangerous for you to walk about amongst my rough parishioners, as they seem to think that you are guilty."
Montrose was no coward, yet he did not see the necessity of courting danger when no benefit could be derived from such foolhardiness. He bowed his head and accepted the warning, thankful to think that Mr. Sparrow did not believe him to have committed the crime. "And Hardwick is dead," he said sadly.
"Yes! Yes! Yes! It is a world of trouble, Mr. Montrose. I have just seen the body, and the poor fellow looks asleep rather than dead. Strange that he should die on the very morning when this tragic event takes place. Polwellin is such a quiet place: nothing of moment ever happens here. Yet now we have two deaths: one from natural causes and one by violence. It never rains but it pours. I have much to do: much to do. Now go back to Tremore, my dear young friend, and rest assured that God will prove your innocence in His own good time. You have my sympathy and my wife's sympathy."