“Be good enough to sit down, Distin. Gilmore, take a chair.” Then, after a pause:
“You are here, Gilmore, at the constable’s request, but the matter does not affect you. My dear Distin, it does affect you, and I want you to help me convince this zealous but wrong-headed personage that he is labouring under a delusion.”
“Certainly, sir,” replied Distin, cheerfully. “What is the delusion?”
“In plain, simple English, my dear boy, he believes that you committed that cruel assault upon poor Vane Lee.”
“Oh,” exclaimed Distin, springing up and gazing excited at the constable, his eyes full of reproach—a look which changed to one of indignation, and with a stamp of the foot like one that might be given by an angry girl, he cried: “How dare he!”
“Ah, yes! How dare he,” said the rector. “But pray do not be angry, my dear boy. There is no need. Bates is a very good, quiet, sensible man who comes here in pursuance of what he believes to be his duty, and I am quite convinced that as soon as he realises the fact that he has made a great mistake he will apologise, and there will be an end of it.”
The constable did not move a muscle, but stood gazing fixedly at Distin, who uttered a contemptuous laugh.
“Well, Mr Syme,” he said, “what am I to do? Pray give me your advice.”
“Certainly, and it is my duty to act as your counsel; so pray forgive me for asking you questions which you may deem unnecessary—for I grant that they are as far as I am concerned, but they are to satisfy this man.”
“Pray ask me anything you like, sir,” cried Distin with a half-contemptuous laugh.