“Yes, indeed,” and Alan related Marie’s daring visit to Mother Slaig, and what she had discovered regarding the movements of the Indian.
“She’s a plucky girl,” said Dick, referring to Marie; “fancy her tackling that horrible old woman. Hum! So Bakche was in the swim also, was he? I wonder if he murdered the man himself?”
“I don’t think so; but we can ask him, for here he is.”
Fuller’s sharp eyes had seen the tall figure of the Indian almost running along the high road, and as the atmosphere was very clear he saw at some distance the brown tint of his face. Bakche met them quite breathless, and explained his haste. “I came down to see Miss Inderwick,” he said, rather short of wind. “I met her—in the carriage—with—the—the clergyman. She refers me to you—Mr.—Mr. Fuller.”
“I am conducting all business on Miss Inderwick’s account,” said Alan in a quiet tone; “but why are you in such a hurry, Mr. Bakche?”
“I thought that I might lose you. I stay at the village inn to-night, as I stayed last July; but I wish to see Miss Inderwick this evening, or you as her representative,” he looked hesitatingly at Latimer.
“My friend knows all about the matter of the Rotherhithe crime,” said Alan quickly, “you can speak frankly before him.”
“How do you know that I came down to speak of the crime?” asked Bakche in a haughty tone.
“Because you know more about it than you have hitherto chosen to confess.”
Bakche replied, still haughty, “I object to the word ‘confess,’ Mr. Fuller; I have no feeling of guilt in the matter.”