"I can tell you," said Mallow, quietly, "young Saxon."
"Then why did he fly?"
"He was there with no very good purpose and his conscience smote the miserable creature," said Cuthbert, "go on—or will you wait?"
"No! no! no!" said Caranby, vehemently; "if I stop now you will never know the truth. I don't want anyone else to be accused of the crime. I know Maraquito hinted that Isabella Octagon was guilty, but she is not. I don't want even Isabella to suffer, though she has been a fatal woman to me and wrecked my life's happiness."
His voice was growing so weak that Yeo gave him more cordial. After a pause Caranby resumed with a last effort, and very swiftly, as though he thought his strength would fail him before he reached the end of his dismal story.
"I followed the man, though I did not know who he was, and wondered why he should be trespassing. He fled rapidly and I soon lost him. But when the moonlight was bright I saw that he had dropped a knife from his pocket. In stooping to pick it up I lost sight of the man."
"Basil crossed the park and ran away. But he came back for the knife afterwards," explained Mallow. "Juliet saw him. He had on my coat. I wonder you didn't think Basil was me, as Juliet did."
"I am not acquainted with your clothes," said Caranby, dryly, "as I have been absent from England for so long. But no wonder Saxon did not find the knife. I picked it up. It was a bowie—"
"Belonging to me, which Basil had stolen."
"I didn't know that either. Well, I went again towards the wall surrounding the park. I thought I might meet you."