“I want you to speak out, Dick.”
“Morton—brother!” whispered Claire appealingly.
“Be silent, Claire,” he replied angrily. “Now, Dick, speak out. You, Mrs Miggles, you are telling him to be silent. I will not have it. Now, Dick, how did you get those jewels?”
“Shrimped ’em. Off the pier.”
“And how came they there?”
“Chucked in, I s’pose,” growled the fisherman. “How should I know?”
“Stop!” cried Morton suddenly. “Let me think—my head is all confused, Mr Barclay—so much trouble lately, but I seem to recollect—yes. Dick Miggles, you know; some one—that night we were fishing down among the piles under the pier.”
“Yes, I recklect oftens fishing along o’ you there, Master Mort’n.”
“Yes, but one night—when I stole down, soon after that terrible business. Why, you recollect, Mr Linnell. You caught me.”
“Yes, of course. I recollect,” said Linnell eagerly.