“Perhaps,” said the Indian ambiguously, “only I shall not tell unless Miss Inderwick—as you suggested yourself, Mr. Fuller—gives me a portion of the jewels. If they did not belong to me rightfully I should not ask for even a part. I am,” he drew himself up again, “an Indian gentleman.”
“Well,” said Fuller, who wished to be fair, “I don’t deny but what your family jewels being given away is hard on you. Miss Inderwick wishes to clear the character of her uncle, and will be willing to give you some of your own back—I expect you put it in that way to yourself—if you can denounce the true murderer.”
“I think I can.”
“Are you not sure.”
“I shall be sure if you can bring me face to face with that boy.”
“Jotty?” cried Latimer, taking his pipe from his mouth. “I always said that the brat knew a lot.”
“Yes. He knows a lot, and so do I,” answered Bakche smiling dryly. “However you must give me a night to think over matters. To-morrow I shall call at The Monastery early in the day, and if we can come to an arrangement you shall have your minds set at rest. Always,” ended the Indian taking off his cap, “always presuming that the boy is confronted with me.”
“Do you hint that Jotty is guilty?” asked Fuller suddenly.
Bakche, who was turning away, looked back with an enigmatic smile. “A weak arm can drive a stiletto into a sleeping man, as easily as can a strong one, sir,” and, still smiling, he walked off rapidly in the direction of Lewes, evidently objecting to further questions.
“By heaven!” muttered Alan aghast, “he knows the truth.”