“Coate broke his neck—falling on a natural rock-stair. I wish you will let me have my beer!”
She looked enquiringly at Mr. Babbacombe. “You know him much better than I do: do you think he did kill Coate?”
“Of course he did!” said Mr. Babbacombe scornfully. “Knew it the instant he told us the fellow was dead! Probably didn’t kill your cousin, though. Didn’t seem to have any such notion in his head when he talked to me about it.”
She gave the Captain his beer, and, taking his free hand, lifted it to her cheek. “I wish Grandpapa had known!” she said simply. “He would have been so delighted! Now tell us, if you please, John, just how it all happened!”
The End.