“Don’t I?” cried Bakche drawing himself up to his stately height, “I was at Rotherhithe when the man was murdered by his sister.”
“Miss Grison!” cried Alan confounded. “Good Lord! Miss Grison killed him?”
“Yes,” said Bakche, “Miss Grison killed him.”
CHAPTER XXI
THE TRUTH
The accusation of the Indian, which seemed to be emphasized by Jotty’s silence, brought Miss Grison, still weak and broken, to her feet. “It’s a lie! a lie! a lie!” she stammered, holding on to the chair for support.
“It’s the truth,” insisted Bakche deliberately.
“But it’s impossible,” murmured Fuller, who was quite bewildered, “she loved her brother dearly.”
“I did, I did. Bless you for saying that, Mr. Fuller,” cried Miss Grison in a tremulous tearful way. “Why should I murder my darling Baldwin?”
“To get me into trouble,” quavered Sorley, who had got back into his chair and was nervously plucking at his chin.
“I wouldn’t have sacrificed him to you,” retorted Miss Grison, dropping back again into her seat and taking out her handkerchief.