"I'll never get the sight of that body out of my head," said Beatrice, with a shudder. "Durban, who could have killed him?"
"I cannot say, missy," said the half-caste stolidly; "you heard what evidence I gave."
"Yes. But did you speak truly?"
"I spoke what I spoke," said Durban sullenly; "the least said, the soonest mended."
Beatrice felt a qualm of terror at the memory of the replaced key and the handkerchief in her pocket. "Then you have some idea who killed Mr. Alpenny?"
"No, I have not, missy--that is, I cannot lay my finger on the man."
"Then it was a man?"
"It might have been two men or three, missy. Master had dealings with very strange and dangerous people: I don't wonder he was killed. And," cried the half-caste, stopping to emphasise his words, "if I knew who killed him, I would shake that man's hand."
"Durban! Why, in Heaven's name?"
"Because--because--missy," he broke off abruptly, "let the past alone, my dear young lady. Mr. Alpenny was a bad man, and came to a deserved end. I did not kill him, you did not kill him, so we had better think no more of him. When he is buried, you will have the money, and then you can marry Mr. Paslow and be happy."