"If Herries communicates with anyone it will be with me," he said, quietly, "as he knows that I am his firm friend, and believe in his innocence."
"You do,--you really do?"
"Certainly. Herries did not even know that his uncle was in the inn, and certainly could not have known that he was the heir."
"No, No," Ritson rapped his teeth with the feathered end of the quill-pen, "yet the evidence is dead against him."
"I am with you there. All the same," here Browne shamelessly pilfered Kyles' ideas, "the evidence is so clear that I believe my friend to be innocent."
"Hum! Hum! Hum!" Ritson cleared his throat, and settled his old-fashioned black satin scarf, "quite so,--quite so. Then you think, doctor," he leaned forward, confidentially, "that this very clear evidence was got together to implicate Mr. Herries in a crime of which he has no knowledge?"
"I am sure of it. Inspector Trent has given his version, which is coloured by the belief that Herries is guilty. Let me tell you the other side, Mr. Ritson."
"I am all attention," said the lawyer, placing the tips of his fingers together, and looking up at the ceiling. Browne thereupon detailed all that he had heard, and seen at the inn. But he did not yet trust Ritson so far as to relate how Herries had found a refuge in Kind's caravan, nor did he state that Kind himself was an ex-detective, sworn to assist the accused man, out of gratitude.
Ritson listened in profound silence, and when the recital was finished he did not commit himself to a statement. On the contrary, he again began his game of chess with the sealing-wax, pens and paperweights, and asked an irrelevant question.
"And you saw Miss Tedder?"