"If he had walked from the house to the oak tree, under which we found him, his clothes would have been all wet. Whereas they were perfectly dry. Therefore, his body must have been carried to the old oak after the murderous assault had been committed. Probably you threw some kind of wrap over the body in case you met anybody--rabbit poachers or the like. Oh, you are very clever, sir, but you didn't work your plans quite so secure as you might. You have so arranged it that you can call Mr. Dashwood as a witness to prove that you had not been outside the house after Mr. Ralph left; but there are other things. I came down early this morning to find Mr. Mayfield here at the whisky and soda. His dress shoes were covered with mud. I've got those dress shoes, for I sent Walters home to get them."
Speed started again. He recollected now that Mayfield had made a fuss before starting over the loss of his evening slippers.
"And I've got yours," Slight went on. "I've got proof that you were both out in the rain last night, after everybody had gone to bed. And Mr. Ralph isn't dead. And before very long I shall have the pleasure of giving evidence against you both, and seeing that you don't either of you do any harm to society for some years to come. And I don't altogether absolve Mr. Ralph from blame. If he had spoken out in the first place, all this trouble would have been saved. If he had said openly, 'I am Sir Ralph Dashwood,' why----"
"He isn't," Speed said feebly. "I am Sir Vincent----"
"Vincent fiddlestick," Slight cried shrilly. "Just as if I didn't know who you were after seeing Sir Ralph for the first time after his return. I was a blind old fool not to have guessed from the start. I might have known where you learned all the family secrets. And when Sir Ralph came home my eyes were opened. He would not let me say anything, for he had his own reasons for concealing the truth for the present. But I knew who you were when I spotted who your mother was, Mr. Vincent Speed."
The wretched listener made no response. It was hopeless to continue the fight in the face of such evidence as this. Slight still held the hot water jug in his hand, ready for anything in the shape of an assault, but he need not have been alarmed.
"You are not so clever by half as you think you are," Slight went on. "You have only been the cat's paw of Mayfield all along. He knew all about Sir Ralph, though he may not have known my young master's reasons for concealing his identity. If this murder had been successful, and you had not been found out, what would have happened? Mayfield would have had you betrayed and kicked out of the house, and Mr. Dashwood, as Sir George, would have come into the title and estates again. And Mayfield would have married Miss Mary. That was Mayfield's little game as far as I can see it. I may be an old man, but I'm not quite devoid of wit for all that. And that's why I am no longer in your service, and so you can make the best of it."
Slight marched out of the room, feeling that he had vindicated his position and his manhood. Speed stood there gnawing his nails, sick at heart, fearsome of every sound. He was a fugitive now, ready to fly, eager to be away, but with no settled plan of action. His one idea was to be off to London now and see Mayfield.