"And what is justly yours, if you please?"
"The reward of one thousand pounds for the discovery of the assassin."
"Oh! Have you learned who killed her?"
"Not yet, but I may learn. At present I confess I am in fault."
George pondered a little. So far Bawdsey spoke frankly enough; but he could not help mistrusting him. However, since the man was in the telling vein, he thought it best to betray no doubts lest Bawdsey should turn rusty. "Well, the discovery is in your own hands," he said, "and I sincerely trust you will gain that thousand pounds. I am as unwilling as my grandfather that Mrs. Jersey's connection with this unfortunate business should become public. I am perfectly convinced that the person who took that confession stabbed the unfortunate woman."
"Do you think so?" asked Bawdsey, stealing a glance at the newspaper.
George nodded. "The confession was written. I learned that much from Margery. Mrs. Jersey told her it was a story. Well, as the confession was not found among Mrs. Jersey's papers when she died, it must have been taken by someone. But I can't think what interest such a thing can have had for any one unless----"
"Unless what, Mr. Brendon?"
"Unless it contained the name of the person who assassinated my father."
"How could Mrs. Jersey know that?"