“Circumstances!”
“Have the circumstances got anything to do with this secret?”
“Everything! More than anything—now.”
“Now—what?”
“Now that Jacob Herapath is dead. Look here!” continued Burchill, leaning forward and speaking impressively. “Take my counsel. Leave this for the moment and come to see me—now, when? Tonight. Come tonight. I’ve nothing to do. Come at ten o’clock. Then—I’ll be in a position to say a good deal more. How will that do?”
“That’ll do,” answered Barthorpe after a moment’s consideration. “Tonight, here, at ten o ’clock.”
He got up and made for the door. Burchill got up too, and for a moment both men glanced at each other. Then Burchill spoke.
“I suppose you’ve no idea who murdered your uncle?” he said.
“Not the slightest!” exclaimed Barthorpe. “Have you?”