“Sorry to shake your trust in an old servant, sir; but proof is proof.”
“But what proof have you?” asked Mr. Rayner earnestly.
“Last Friday afternoon, between half-past four and twenty minutes to five, your servant Sarah Gooch was seen to give the contents of a black bag to a man in Beaconsburgh. The fact excited no suspicion. The man took the next train to London, travelling second-class. But south of Colchester he was seized with a fit; he was taken out at the next station, the bag he had with him examined for his address, jewels found in it, and the police at Scotland Yard communicated with. The man escaped; but, on inquiries being made, witnesses were found to prove conclusively that the biscuit-tin which contained the jewel had been handed to him in a street in Beaconsburgh, on Friday afternoon, between half-past four and twenty minutes to five, by a woman who was identified as Sarah Gooch.”
I remembered seeing Sarah pass through the plantation on Friday afternoon, on her way to Beaconsburgh, with the black bag. But I was too horror-stricken to speak, even if I had not been, now that the blow had fallen, as anxious to screen her as Mr. Rayner himself was to prove her innocence.
“But I cannot believe it!” said Mr. Rayner. “She is a rough, harsh woman; but I have always found her honest as the day.”
“She may have been instigated,” suggested the detective. “It’s wonderful what things women will do for their lovers, and she had a lover—not of the best possible character.”
Mr. Rayner gave a quick glance at me, and I felt guilty, for it was indeed I who had given this piece of information.
“Do you know his name?” asked Mr. Rayner.
“I am not in a position to state it yet; but we have our suspicions,” said the man cautiously.
Mr. Rayner gave no sign of incredulity; but I knew his face well enough now to be able to tell that he did not believe him.