A STARTLING DISCOVERY.
Perhaps among all his friends Myles had no warmer supporter than Spencer Ellersby. The young man appeared to be genuinely sorry that his evidence about meeting Desmond in St. James' Street should be used against him.
"Hang it!" he said to Marton, as they were seated at their club, "if I had only known how it would have been twisted, I'd not have said a word, but that detective fellow got it out of me somehow--brute of a fellow--killed my dog, you know, Pickles."
"Well, I hear they'll not be able to prove the dagger in Desmond's possession was the one used," said Marton, "good for poor old Myles--hey!"
"I think it's d--d rubbish, the whole thing," retorted Ellersby, hotly; "what the deuce should Myles kill this woman for, she was nothing to him; more likely Calliston knows more about it."
"Well, he'll soon be asked at all events," said Marton, with a chuckle. "The Seamew's back at Brighton."
"What!" cried Ellersby astonished. "And Lady Balscombe?"
"Oh, she's on board also," said Marton. "Sir Rupert has gone down, I hear, to see his wife--what a deuce of a row there'll be, hey!" and the old reprobate rubbed his hands.
"Well, there is one thing to be said," observed Ellersby ringing for a brandy and soda, "Calliston can't marry Miss Penfold now."
"All the better for Desmond, dear boy, hey?"