Numerous half-witted folk, as is usual in such cases, had come forward and given themselves up, declaring that they had committed the murder, but the worthlessness of their stories was at once proved in every case. One man, it was discovered, had been on the high seas another had never been near Childerbridge in his life; while a third, and this was a still more remarkable case, was found to have been an inmate of one of Her Majesty's convict establishments at the time the murder was committed.
"Never mind," said Jim to himself; "he must be captured sooner or later. If the police authorities cannot catch him, I'll take up the case myself, and run him to ground, wherever he may be."
As he said this he looked up at the portrait of his father, which hung upon the wall of his study.
"Come what may, father," he continued, "if there is any justice in the world, your cruel murder shall be avenged."
Another month went by, and still the same want of success attended the search for Murbridge.
"Alice, I can stand it no longer," said Jim to his sister one evening, after he had read a communication from Robins. "I can gather from the tone of this letter that they are losing heart. I ought to have taken up the case myself at the commencement, and not have wasted all this precious time. The man may now be back in Australia, South America, or anywhere else."
Alice crossed the room and placed her hand on his shoulder.
"Dear old Jim," she said, "I am sure you know how I loved our father."
"Of course I do," said Jim, looking up at her. "No one knows better. But I can see there is something you want to say to me. What is it?"
"Don't be angry with me, Jim," she replied, seating herself on the arm of his chair "but deeply as that man has wronged us, I cannot help thinking that we should not always be praying for vengeance against him, as we are doing. Do you think it is what our father, with his noble nature, would have wished?"