"Pardon me, not at all," replied the younger man, looking up for a moment. "If he died now there would be no confession."
In the end they brought him round and placed him again in his chair, a pitiable object, with his damp hair, his loosened collar and the imploring look in his eyes. The most meritorious of men could not have looked dignified under such circumstances, much less Frank Marshall, who was so to speak, in the dock before two prejudiced judges.
"I suppose you are going to give me up?" he said.
"On the contrary, we want to get you out of this trouble--for the sake of the family," said Mr. Cass, coldly. "Though by rights you should hang."
"They don't hang for forgery, stammered the wretched creature, arranging his collar.
"Pshaw! I am not speaking of the minor crime but of the greater. It was you who murdered Jenner."
"I did not. I swear I did not."
"You did. I am convinced of it. He came down here with that bill in order to blackmail you and you killed him."
He made no attempt to assert his dignity. "You can kick a man when he is down if you like," he said, in a quavering voice, "even though he is your sister's husband, but you have no right to accuse him of a crime he did not commit. I tell you I forged that bill, but I did not kill the man."
"You knew that he was in the neighbourhood?"