“Good Heaven!” he exclaimed, “he murdered him!”
Trevithick stood with his hands pressed upon his brow, trying to think calmly, but his head became hotter as the idea grew strong.
“Yes,” he said, “died of an overdose of chloral, they said. He could never have taken that money without. He must have got to know, and—yes, he must have drugged him to death, so as to get the heavy sum. Christopher Lisle! Bah! This was the man!
“No, no; I’m growing wild—I must be calm.”
He caught a glass, and poured out some water from a table-filter, drank it hastily, and began to walk up and down the room for a time, till, feeling more himself, he took a seat to try and think the matter out, raising up every point strongly in Glyddyr’s favour.
“No man could be such a wretch as to murder another, and then marry his child,” he said at last firmly; but the accusation came more strongly, and with supporting evidence, as something began to whisper to him, “But what was the meaning of all that drinking—of that conduct on the wedding-day—of the abject dread of Gartram’s picture, and of the delirious wanderings about being haunted?
“He is the man!” cried Trevithick at last, as he brought his fist down heavily into his left palm. “Gartram was murdered—accidentally, perhaps—but murdered, and—Great Heavens! what shall I—what ought I to do?”
He sat long, turning the matter over and over, viewing it from every point, and at last coldly and clearly it all seemed to stand out before him.
“No,” he said, “I cannot keep silence. He is a curse to that poor girl. Poor blind old Gartram favoured him, and the fiend played upon the poor girls filial duty. Yes, I know that well enough. Poor Claude would almost give her life to be free from the wretch who is dissipating her property to clear off debts to Gellow. And is he an accomplice?
“Accomplice in forcing on the marriage; but that wretch must have done the deed, and, Heaven helping me, I’ll bring it home to him, and set the poor girl free.