“I’ll see justice done you,” said Harry, still hesitating.
“Thanky, sir! You see, about them police, there’s the inquiss, and the doctor, and the jury, and all of them to see it; but you may take our word for it as it’s all right: it’s him, sure enough.”
“How—how do you suppose it happened?—by accident?”
“Well, sir,” said the first man, “it don’t look very accidental when a poor chap’s got two knife-holes in his chest, and a cut across the head enough to do for any man. You may call it a accident if you like, but accidents don’t turn a chap’s pockets inside out, and take his watch and ring.”
Harry glanced again shudderingly at the door. Should he go in, or should he stay? It was cruel work, but he had promised the father, and the duty must be performed. He could not help dreading to gaze upon the fair frank face that he knew of old; and as he thought, he recalled it, with its insolent smile of triumph, when they parted at the station. And now, barbarously mutilated, sullied with mud and water, perhaps it would be so changed as to be beyond the power of recognition.
And yet he knew that it must be done—that it was impossible for him to take the men’s judgment, which must needs be of the most partial character.
There was nothing else for it, then, but to go, and he motioned to the man to throw open the door.
“I don’t know as I’d go, sir, if I was you,” said the man who had been his guide. “Give it up, sir, and take our word for it. We’re used to this sorter thing; but it ain’t pleasant to look at I wouldn’t go in, sir, if I was you.”
The man became so importunate at last, on seeing Harry’s firmness, that the latter grew angry, for he had now nerved himself for his task; and without waiting to hear more, he muttered the two words, “Poor Lionel!” threw back the door, and strode in.
Almost as soon as he had crossed the threshold the door swung to behind him, leaving the place in semi-obscurity, for it was only illumined by the faint pencils of light that streamed in through the treenail-holes of the old planks,