“I did so on the impulse of the moment,” cried Sorley, drawing himself up with some dignity; “but later I saw that my flight gave color to the charge against me. As I am quite innocent, I intended to give myself up so that the matter could be inquired into, and I do so now.”
“Because you can’t help yourself,” said Moon with a shrug; “come away, sir, at once. I have a cab at the door.”
“Oh, I sha’n’t try to escape, for I am innocent,” persisted the old man; “because I have the peacock it is supposed that I murdered Grison.”
“It is very good evidence, you know,” Moon assured him.
“It was that woman, who brought the peacock down to The Monastery.”
Miss Grison laughed scornfully. “I told you he would say that,” she said, addressing Moon, “and I solemnly swear that I did no such thing.”
“You stole it from me over twenty years ago,” cried Sorley insistently.
“I took it, certainly,” admitted the woman coolly, “because you owed my brother money, and it was necessary to hold something valuable belonging to you so that he might be paid. You never paid, and preferred to get back your property, or rather that of your niece, by crime.”
“It is wholly false.”
“Tell that to the judge and jury,” she sneered, “I warned you that you would be punished for your iniquity, and now the time has come.”