“But you must help me, Moredock! You shall help me, man!”
“I can’t help you, doctor: it’s murder!” protested the sexton, trying to escape from the fierce grasp which held him.
“It was not murder! It was fair fight!” cried North fiercely. “And, look here, man, you cannot help yourself. You must help me to hide this terrible night’s work.”
The old man ceased struggling: for the doctor’s words impressed him, and he felt how thoroughly they two were linked together.
“But it’s like cutting short a man’s days,” he half whimpered.
“Silence! Do what I say, and no one need know what has occurred.”
“But—”
“Silence, I say!” cried North, firmly now. “Get your hat; we must go to the church at once.”
Moredock stood half bent, and with his head turned to his companion.
“Where—where is he, doctor?”