In a smoking compartment, which the three had to themselves, Hurd resumed his examination of Tray. They were now on their way to Liverpool Street and thence the detective intended to convey the boy to Pash's office in Chancery Lane. Paul sat in one corner much excited over the turn events had taken. He began to think that the assassin of Aaron Norman would be found after all. More, he believed that Sylvia would yet inherit the five thousand a year she was entitled to, morally, if not legally. Hurd, in another corner, pulled Tray roughly towards him, and shook his finger in the lad's face. The boy was sulky and defiant, yet there was a trace of fear in his eyes, and the reason of this Hurd wished to learn.
"You're a young liar," said Hurd, emphatically, "and not a clever one either. Do you think to play the fool with me?"
"I've tole you all straight," grumbled Tray.
"No, you haven't. Anyone can see that you've made a mistake. I leave it to Mr. Beecot yonder."
"I was about to draw your attention to the mistake," said Paul; "you mean the discrepancy in time."
Master Clump started and became more sulky than ever. He cast down his cunning eyes and shuffled with his feet while Hurd lectured him. "You know well enough," said the detective, sharply, "that the brooch was boned by you on the very evening when the murder took place. It was then that Mr. Beecot met with his accident. Therefore, you could not have given the brooch to Mr. Pash the next morning, as it had been used on the previous night."
"Sha'n't say anythin' more," retorted Tray, defiantly.
"Oh, won't you?" cried Hurd, ironically, "we'll see about that. You told that lie about the time to account for your knowing of the murder before anyone else did."
"No," said Tray, decidedly, "I did go to the shorp in th' mornin'."
"That you may have done, but not to sell the brooch. Mr. Pash had taken it from you on the previous night."