“Dick Miggles and I were fishing that night under the pier, and a man came and threw something in.”
Claire turned ghastly pale, and Linnell stretched out his hand to catch her, but she waved him off and stood firm.
“You recollect, Dick?”
“No,” said the fisherman sulkily. “I don’t recklect.”
Claire uttered a low moan. It was horrible, and she suffered a martyrdom as she stood there, helpless now to speak or resist, only able, with her hearing terribly acute, to listen to her brother dragging out from this man perhaps some fresh token of her father’s guilt.
“You do recollect,” cried Morton fiercely. “You got up and looked between the planks, and you said he had thrown something into the sea.”
“Oh—ah—yes—I recollect now: some one come and threw a stone in.”
“Some one would not come down to the end of the pier to throw in a stone,” said Barclay drily.
“No,” said Morton; “and Dick looked up and watched and saw who it was. He pretended he couldn’t see—”
Claire’s heart sank lower and lower. It was too horrible.