And it was not until John Thurley had read him out some notes he had taken down during Crispin’s confession, that the master of Sea-Mew Abbey would believe that his lieutenant had gone over to the enemy. Then he shrugged his shoulders and chose a cigar very carefully.
“Will you have one?” he said, offering the case to Thurley. “They smoke none the worse for being contraband.”
John Thurley declined.
“Ah, well,” continued the other, “I bear you no ill-will for causing my expatriation, especially as in doing so you have cleared my name of a charge I saw no means of disproving. By-the-bye, why didn’t you speak out sooner about the murder?”
“Because I had no very strong evidence myself. I put the case in the hands of the police, and detectives were sent down here who discovered that a man on horseback had come from Oldcastle Farm on the day of the murder, that he had tied up his horse in a shed at the bottom of the hill, just outside the town, and had been seen with a revolver in his hand making his way across the field to the spot where Barnabas Ugthorpe found the body. The man was identified as Robert Heritage; it was found out that he had just learnt the servant’s intention to betray his master’s secrets to you. This is evidence enough to try the man on, if not to hang him.”
“And the cousin, what becomes of him?”
This was the question Freda had been dying to ask, and she drew near, clasping her hands tightly in her anxiety to learn Dick’s fate.
“I don’t quite know. He seems to have been used as a tool from a very early age by his good-for-nothing cousin. It’s an exceedingly awkward business, especially for me, as I am distantly connected with the family, and I feel for the poor lady very much. I must look into their affairs, and try to get the farm let for her benefit. As for this Dick, he had better emigrate.”
“He won’t do that,” interrupted Freda quickly.
“He would rather starve than leave his old home!”