“There, come along, fool,” cried the constable.
“No—not without him,” cried Isaac. “Murder!”
“Silence!” cried Denville excitedly, as Claire rushed down the stairs and caught her father’s arm.
“Shan’t silence!” yelled the man, who now threw off his half-tipsy, contemptuous manner, and seemed stung by the treatment he had received into a fit of furious passion. “I give him into custody—for murder.”
“Nonsense! Hold your tongue, and come along,” cried the constable; while Linnell seized the man on the other side, and hurriedly tried to force him out.
But it is not easy to get a man along a narrow passage if he resists fiercely; and so they found, for, setting his feet against the edge of the dining-room door, Isaac thrust himself back, and yelled to the throng at the door:
“Do you hear? For murder! I charge this man—Denville—with killing old Lady Teigne.”
“Silence, villain!” hissed Linnell in his ear, as he darted an agonised glance at where Claire was half supporting her father, while the black cloud she had seen impending so long seemed to have fallen at last.
“Silence? When there’s murder?” shouted Isaac. “I tell you I heard a noise, and got up, and then I saw him go to Lady Teigne’s room, the night she was murdered. Ask him there who did it, and see what he’ll say.”
“Father, come away!” panted Claire, as she threw herself before him, as if to defend him against this terrible charge.