George Harrington drew forth and opened his knife again, tried the blade on the joints of two of the bins, to find that the mortar was hard. Then going to the one where the dog stood watching him, he plunged the point in easily between the bricks.
“Look, sir,” he said hoarsely; “and you can see the whitewash is hardly dry. The proofs of all I have said are in there.”
Chapter Forty.
Self-Condemned.
Mr Hampton caught George Harrington by the arm, and his voice was low and husky with emotion as he said:
“No, no; in heaven’s name, no. It is too horrible.”
“Horrible enough, sir. Down, Bruno! Watch!”
The dog couched directly, growling low the while.