“Dear, dear—dear, dear!” ejaculated Trevithick excitedly, as the man began to overcome the lawyer. “There are the ladies, Wimble. We must be very careful. If this reached their ears it would be horrible.”
“Yes, sir, of course; but the wicked ought to be punished.”
“You don’t like Mr Lisle?” said the lawyer, looking at him searchingly.
“Well, sir, if I must speak out, no: I don’t like Mr Lisle.”
“And so you magnify this suspicion, and seek to do him harm by setting about the story.”
“Steady there, sir, please. I don’t set about a story without good proof. Now, let me ask you, sir, was Mr Gartram the sort of man to go and kill himself with an overdose of that stuff?”
“By accident, man; yes.”
“Not a bit of it, sir. He was too clever. I don’t want to prove Mr Lisle guilty, but there’s the case. He was hanging about the grounds that night.”
“Who saw him?”
“The gardener, sir, Brime. Caught him there after he had been forbidden the place, and he persuaded the man to hold his tongue.”