"It is that," replied the man with naïve vanity, "and you aint the first as has said that, sir. Oh, I'm fond of the garden, I am; flowers are much nicer company than human beings, I think. Not so cross with Dicky, you know, sir."
"No doubt," said Tait, seeing that the creature was following the wanderings of his poor wits. "But about this murder you——"
"I didn't know anything was wrong," interrupted the gardener earnestly; "I'd have kept out of the way if I'd known that; but I came here one night when I shouldn't have been here."
"How was that?"
"Hot rum and water," confessed Dick, with great simplicity. "I drank it—too much of it, and it went to my head. It isn't a strong head, so I came here to sleep it clear again. That was about twelve o'clock as near as I can tell, but, Lord bless you, my head made no account of time, when the hot rum and water was in it. I woke up and I was frightened finding myself in the dark,—I hate the dark, don't you, sir?—so I finished some rum that I had with me and went to sleep again. Then I woke up sudden, I did, and I saw it."
"The murder being committed?"
"No, not quite that! But I saw a man lying on the ground just over there, and he didn't move a bit. Another man was holding him in his arms, and Denis Bantry was standing by with a lantern."
"Who was the other man?"
"It was a gentleman called Mr. Jeringham. Oh, yes! My head was queer, but I knew him by his clothes, I did. I was at the grand ball of the gentry, you know; it was there I got drunk—and I saw Mr. Jeringham there in black clothes with gold trimmings. He had them on when he bent over Captain Larcher."
"How did you know the man on the ground was Captain Larcher?"