"Silence gives consent, I see," said Axton, throwing himself back in his chair, with a harsh laugh. "Well, I'm sorry a man I thought my friend should think so ill of me."
"What else can I think, Roger?"
"He calls me Roger," said Axton, with an effort at gaiety. "Why not the prisoner at the bar—the convict in the jail—the secret poisoner?"
"Because I believe you to be none of the three, my friend," replied Fanks, candidly.
Roger looked at him with a sudden flush of shame, and involuntarily held out his hand, but drew it back quickly, before the other could clasp it.
"No, not yet," he said, hastily; "I will not clasp your hand in friendship until I clear myself in your eyes. You demand an explanation. Well, I am here to give it."
"I am glad of that," replied Fanks for the second time. "I'm quite aware," continued Roger, flushing, "that now you are at Ironfields you must be aware that I concealed certain facts in my conversation with you."
"Yes! You said you had not been to Ironfields, and that you did not correspond with Miss Varlins. Both statements were false."
"May I ask on whose authority you speak so confidently?" demanded Axton, coldly.
"Certainly. On the authority of Dr. Japix."