Hersham trembled still more, and clasped his hands together. "I cannot," he muttered, shrinking away from Fanks; "I dare not."
[CHAPTER XIV].
FANKS MAKES UP HIS MIND.
Naturally Fanks was astonished at this confession; but he was so conversant with the character of the young man that he could not believe the journalist was guilty. Despite the coincidence of the tattooed cross and the relationship of Fellenger's wife with Anne Colmer, he did not think for a moment that his friend had anything to do with the crime. Nevertheless, it would appear from the hesitation of Hersham to speak openly that he had some knowledge--if not of the crime itself--at all events of the circumstances leading to its accomplishment. This was the only construction he could place on this last outburst.
"After what I have said, Hersham, I think you ought to confide in me," he remarked after a pause. "I do not suspect you in any way; yet you refuse to aid me. You ought to be the first to help me."
"I do not see how you make that out," replied Hersham, with a pale face. "I never met with Sir Gregory. I heard nothing but evil of his life, and he drove to suicide the sister of the girl to whom I am engaged. Why should I help you?"
"Ah!" cried Fanks, sharply; "then you can help me if you choose."
"I certainly cannot," returned Hersham, doggedly. "I have not the slightest idea who killed Fellenger. I can tell you nothing."
"Yes, you can; only you refuse to. Why I cannot say. You had better be careful, Hersham; you will not find me easy to deal with if you rouse my suspicions."
"Do you threaten me?"