“To throw you off the scent,” said Hilton.
“Exactly. Then there was the finding of the stove-in boat, and portions of the dresses of those who apparently occupied her—everything pointing to some terrible accident. What would the authorities have said had I, on the barest suspicion, seized upon Murad and charged him with this crime? A public official cannot do that which a private individual might attempt.”
Hilton walked on by his side, very moody and thoughtful.
“I have felt suspicious of this cunning villain all along; and I do not feel quite satisfied that the Inche Maida has not been playing into his hands. But what could I do—on suspicion merely! Even now, had he not absented himself from Sindang, we could hardly venture upon this expedition. In spite of what we have heard, he may be innocent.”
“My head upon it he is guilty!” cried Hilton, fiercely: “and if we do bring him to book—”
The Resident looked at his companion curiously, for the young officer ceased speaking, and he saw that there was a fixed, strange look in his eye, and that his lips were drawn slightly from his teeth.
“If we do bring him to book,” said the Resident, quietly, “he shall suffer for it.”
“Suffer!” cried Hilton, excitedly. “Look here, Harley, I vow to you now that if Helen Perowne offered me her hand to-morrow, and asked me to marry her, I should refuse; but all the same, I’d strike down the man who offered her the slightest insult; and as for this Murad, if we run him to earth, and he is guilty, I’ll shoot him like a dog.”
“Leave that revolver alone,” said the Resident, quietly, as unconsciously Hilton took the weapon from its pouch at his belt and began turning the chambers round and round.
The young officer hastily thrust the weapon back and tightened his belt. By that time they had reached the doctor’s house, where, upon entering, they found little Mrs Bolter looking flushed and annoyed, and opposite to her Mrs Barlow, the picture of woe.