“Ah, ah! Very good! Very good, indeed, brother Charles,” said Goodhare, mockingly.
The police officers said nothing to all this. They began to “smell a rat,” however; for if there had been nothing in the rumored theft, what should two such prodigious swells as the earl and his brother do poking about in this thieves’ den, with such disastrous results for one of them? As there was nothing to be got by contradicting the “swell’s” assertion, the man who had approached Deborah stepped back respectfully.
“Come on,” said he to his companions, “we’ll make sure of this one, anyhow.”
And he looked at Goodhare, who had subsided into silence.
“There’s another of ’em downstairs, ain’t there?” asked one of the others.
“He’s done for, I think.”
But at that moment there came up from the cellar the doctor and the fourth policeman, supporting between them the weak and almost helpless Rees Pennant, who tried feebly to walk, but was scarcely able to do more then drag his feet limply after him.
“This man had nothing to do with the murder,” said Deborah hastily, glancing in fear towards Amos Goodhare as she laid her hand on one of Rees’s helpless arms.
“No, that is right enough,” said Goodhare at once, to Deborah’s surprise. “He had nothing to do with it.”
There was a malicious expression on the old scoundrel’s face which did not accord with the words. The policemen, though not at all satisfied as to the share Rees Pennant and Deborah had taken in this mysterious affair, contented themselves with taking their names and the address at Carstow which the young lady gave them, on Charles Cenarth’s offering to go to the police-station and to become security for their appearance when they should be wanted. For it was apparent to everyone that the young man’s injuries were of a dangerous, if not fatal description.