The constable received the gun gingerly from him, and inspected it. Then he scratched his head. “I’m bound to say it ain’t never been fired, not from the looks of it,” he owned. “But Mr. Stalybridge and his man and the coachman, they all say as the young varmint pretty nigh shot the ear off the coachman!”
“But what does the boy say?” asked the Duke.
“Well, that’s it, sir. He don’t say nothing. Proper sullen, that’s what he is!”
The Duke rose. “He’ll talk to me. Will you take me to him?”
When the door was opened into Tom’s cell, that young gentleman was discovered seated on the bench in a dejected attitude, his head propped in his hands. He looked up defensively, disclosing a bruised countenance, but when he perceived the Duke his sulky look vanished, and he jumped up, exclaiming with a distinct sob in his voice: “Oh, sir! Oh, Mr. Rufford! Indeed, I am very sorry! But I didn’t do it!”
“No, I don’t think you did,” replied the Duke, in his serene way. “But you have been behaving very badly, you know, and you quite deserve to be locked up!”
Tom sniffed. “Well, when you went away, I didn’t know what to do, for I had very little money, and there was the shot to be paid, and I quite thought you had deserted us! Why did you go, sir? Where have you been?”
“To tell you the truth, I couldn’t help but go,” said the Duke ruefully. “I am very sorry to have made you uncomfortable, but I think you should have known I would not desert you. Now, tell me this, Tom! What did you do to make three persons swear that you fired at one of them?”
The cloud descended again on to Tom’s face. He flushed, glanced up under his lashes at the interested constable, and growled: “I shan’t say.”
“Then I am much afraid that you will be either hanged or transported,” replied the Duke calmly.