“Destiny gave him a dose of his own gruel,” said Alan thoughtfully. “He must have been a bad lot, in spite of his sister’s eulogies.”
“Well,” remarked Dick with a shrug, “Sorley’s opinion of the man seems to be more correct than Miss Grison’s. Poor soul, I wonder what she will say when she learns that her brother acted in this way?”
“She will be thankful that his violent death prevented his appearance on the scaffold,” said Alan dryly. “What is Moon doing about the matter?”
“Nothing. What can he do? Grison is dead, and the relatives of the victim, being of good position and well off, are not anxious to have a fuss made over the matter, since the murder took place in such a locality. You can well understand that, Alan, my son.”
“Yes, I can well understand that. Well, Grison had to pay very speedily for his wickedness. You don’t think that a relative of the dead man killed him out of revenge.”
“Oh, dear me, no! The relatives are most respectable, and never went near Rotherhithe. The first murder has nothing to do with the second, I assure you, Alan. However, there is nothing more to be said about Grison’s crime and we must content ourselves in learning who killed him.”
“After what you have told me, I don’t think he is worth it.”
“Worth revenging, do you mean? Well, perhaps not; but the peacock is worth the search for the assassin, since finding him means finding the means to discover the treasure.”
“And you suspect Sorley, with Bakche as a factor in the case?”
“I suspect no one at present, and only my sixth sense, which is not invariably to be relied upon, thinks that your Indian friend may be mixed up with the matter. Go down to Belstone, Alan, and see if Sorley still talks about cryptograms. If he does, and submits one for your solution, it will probably have to do with the peacock, if Miss Inderwick’s tale of her ancestor and Ferrier is to be believed.”