"Bah! he is not worth talking about," interrupted Darrel contemptuously; "let's leave him in his native mud. What about the letter? Have you any idea who wrote it?"
"I told you the assassin of Grent and Julia."
"Have you any idea of his name?"
"I have a suspicion that it may turn out to be someone we know."
"Ha; I guess your idea. Manuel?"
Torry shook his head. "No. Manuel proved an alibi, and has cleared himself in my eyes. I suspect Frederick Leighbourne."
"No!" exclaimed Darrel with genuine surprise. "Why he is the last man in the world I should suspect."
"All the more reason for suspecting him," replied the experienced officer. "I have been making a few inquiries about that good young man, and I have found out that he leads a double life. With his respectable ass of a father he is all that is worthy and decent, but under this pious surface he is a scamp and a debauched spendthrift. Money runs through his hands like sand, and he is in debt to half the tradesmen in London. Wine, women, cards and racing, Frederick Leighbourne indulges in them all, and is now at his wits' end to conceal his iniquities from his father. If that virtuous dunderhead knew the truth he would kick Master Frederick out of the business, cut him off with a shilling, and solace his pious soul with texts out of the family Bible. Oh, I know the creed of the British hypocrite--cant, cant, and cant again."
"But all this does not prove that Frederick Leighbourne killed Grent."
"Don't you remember our first interview with him," cried Torry impatiently, "how afraid and nervous he was in how extraordinary a manner he took the news of Grent's murder? He had changed the notes for Grent, and knew that there was little danger of them being traced by Manuel's list. He found out that Grent was going to bolt with the money----"