Herrick placed his hands on the shoulders of the agitated man and forced him into the chair. "Come," said he in a more friendly tone, "you are not so weak or so bad as I thought Corn. You took the blame on yourself. Oh, I know you protested your innocence to Santiago; still he would always think you guilty. He is not the man to believe that any human being would shield another. Why did you shield Mrs. Marsh?"
"For her son's sake," said Corn, "and for the sake of Ida Endicotte."
Herrick stared. "What has she got to do with it?"
"I love her," said Corn in a low voice shading his eyes with the palm of his hand, "but she told me that her whole life was wrapped up in Stephen's. If he knew that his mother had killed Carr, he is quixotic enough to throw up the whole fortune out of shame. Then he would not be able to marry Ida and her heart would be broken. It is for this reason that I held my peace."
"Yet you let Stephen be assaulted," said Herrick, "his death would have ruined the life of Ida just the same."
"I did not know about the assault until after it was committed," said Corn quickly, "then Santiago--but I cannot tell you the story in scraps like this. Better let me tell you all about myself, and what led to my present weakness. Then you will appreciate what I have gone through."
Herrick nodded, "it is best so. Go on. You can safely confide in me, Corn. I only retain the right to use such information as may clear up the mystery of this murder."
Corn seized his arm. "You will not tell about Mrs. Marsh?" he panted.
"Not without consulting you. Be certain Corn that I am too true a friend to Stephen, to do anything harmful to him. But there is much at stake and I must be allowed to use my own judgment. You can rely on me."
"I am sure of that," said the clergyman in admiration, "you are a strong-willed man. I was strong myself once--in a way. But my crime----"