Maud uttered a squeak like that of a trapped rabbit, and clung to her cousin in a half-fainting condition. The startling accusation of the ex-policeman came upon Herries with the force of a bludgeon, and his flesh crept as he felt Maud's terrified grasp. What if she were guilty after all,--what if she had,--but the thought was too horrible. Bad as the girl was in many ways, vain, frivolous, cruel, selfish, she would never have killed the father who had loved her so greatly. As it was, she vehemently denied the accusation.
"It's a he,--a lie," she murmured, trying to keep from fainting, "oh, how dare you, how----" here nature would have her way, and Maud sank unconscious on the ground. Armour continued his vociferations, so Herries gave the insensible girl to Señora Guzman, who received her with reluctance, and caught Armour by the collar.
"Do you know what you are saying?" he demanded, shaking the man in a fierce way. "How dare you accuse this young lady of----"
"Well, if she didn't do it, who killed him?" asked the man in a sullen tone and beginning to see that he had gone too far. "It wasn't that Herries chap."
"I am Herries!"
"You." Armour shook off the grasp and recoiled against the wall.
"Yes! And you have no right to accuse my cousin. She came, as her companion, Mrs. Mountford, knew," this was a lie, but Herries wanted to save the miserable girl, "to see her old nurse."
"And went out late at night. My wife confessed it."
It was at this moment that Alice returned, followed by Mrs. Armour.
After her first cry for help the servant had thought it best to go for the wife. Fortunately there were few people about, and her feeble cry had gone unheeded. Also the tap-room was empty, a rare occurrence for the time being, so when Alice brought back Mrs. Armour, that woman ran into the room, with a white face, dreading lest her husband's tongue, loosened by liquor, should have wagged too freely.