"No! No! No! No!" almost shrieked the wretched man, and flung himself on his knees. "Arthur, don't, don't. I swear I am innocent. I know nothing of Dimsdale's murder."
"Stand up, you cur, and speak out," said Vernon, more enraged by this exhibition of weakness than he had been by the man's insolence. "How did you learn this secret of Dimsdale's? Is it true or a lie?"
"It is true. It is true. I swear it is true. Oh, don't call in the police."
Maunders still grovelled and clung to the knees of Vernon with such force that the young man could not get away. Outside, the fog had rolled right up to the single window of the apartment, and the livid look of the atmosphere suited the situation much better than did the calm, rosy light of the lamp. Near the door knelt Maunders, weeping piteously and begging that the police might not be called in. Vernon stood silent, but Towton gave vent to an oath at the unmanly demeanour of the detected scoundrel.
"Who told you the secret?" he demanded fiercely. "I insist upon knowing, and if you don't tell I'll call in the police myself. A cur such as you are should be under lock and key."
"Come, Maunders," said Vernon sternly, "who told you?"
"Miss Jewin. She knew Dimsdale in India and Burmah," snuffled the kneeling man, desperately afraid.
"Who is Miss Jewin?"
"Hest's housekeeper at Gerby----"
"What!" Both men uttered the ejaculation simultaneously and looked at one another. Then ensued a silence, while the fog closed in thicker and darker, and only the weeping of Maunders could be heard. Suddenly from the hall came the sound of the door opening, and then a firm footstep. Maunders gave a wild cry and clung vehemently to Vernon's legs.