"Why not? He was insolent enough while he was up. And to kill an old man of whom he knew nothing! Owain, it was beastly. I hope I'm as decent a chap as any, but my gorge rises at the sight of this creature."
What little pride remained in Spruce rose at these words. He sprang to his feet and shook his fist wildly in the air. "I shall get off!" he screamed. "I can prove my innocence!"
"Do so to the detective," said Hench, wishing to end the scene.
"A detective! a detective!" Spruce clutched his throat as if to tear away the rope he was doomed to. "You won't--you won't----" His voice failed.
"I saw the authorities and procured a warrant before leaving London. Every moment I expect the detective in to execute it."
"No! No! No!" Spruce flung himself on his knees. "Dear Hench, good Hench, you won't allow me to be hanged? I don't want the money; I'll give it up. Let me get away; let me hide."
"Did you murder my uncle?"
"Yes! Yes!" Spruce's cheeks were streaming with tears and his teeth were chattering. "It's all true. I acknowledge that I killed him to get the money. But I am sorry--really and truly I am sorry. Don't give me up--don't----"
"Get up," cried Vane in disgust, "and take your gruel like a man."
"Bottles, see if the policeman is there," ordered Hench, and Bottles, glad to escape from the scene, fled willingly.