"In my case, no," cried Herries, striking the table heavily. "I can look any man in the face, as I look into yours now, and can say that I am honest, in thought, word, and deed."
His clear blue eyes looked into those of the Inspector, and it was the official who first gave way. Turning over the leaves of his pocket-book, to disguise the impression which Herries' frankness had made on him, he took refuge in irritation, a sure sign that he had no feasible reply to make.
"This isn't what we are here to talk about," he said testily. "I wish to know what defence you have to make, to the charge brought against you by the landlord?"
"What defence?--that I am innocent."
"On what grounds?"
"On the grounds that I never expected to find Sir Simon here, that I did not know he was in the house, that I have no grudge against him."
"How do I know that?" asked Trent, cunningly.
"Because I tell you that such is the case," said Herries haughtily, "and if you will listen to a short account of my life, you may be able to conquer the prejudice against me, which the couple who keep this miserable inn have instilled into your breast."
"I am not prejudiced," snapped Trent, nettled, "say what you have to say, and let us end this business as speedily as possible."
"I am only too anxious to do so," said Herries coldly and folding his arms, still standing. "I am the son of Sir Simon Tedder's only sister. He was a hard man, always, and when she married against his will, he would never help her. My mother and father both died when I was in my teens. They left enough money for me to gain an education and secure a doctor's degree. I practised on shore with bad success, and so went to sea. I have been away from England for about two years, and since then I have never set eyes on my uncle, until you showed me his corpse just now."