“Quite, your worship—we picked up this cloak stained with blood, which we believe belongs to the prisoner.”
“That is all you have to say?”
“It is, your worship, except that the prisoner has been dodging Gray about as closely as I have, for a day or two now.”
“Do you wish to ask any questions of this witness?” said Sir Francis to Albert, in a cold tone.
“None,” said Albert. “He has spoken the truth, and yet I am innocent.”
“What further evidence is there?” said Sir Francis.
“The other officers can swear to what I have said, your worship,” said the officer, “and I have left one to see that no one meddles with the body.”
“That was right,” cried Sir Francis, with sudden animation. “I will go there myself at once. There may be some papers.”
Albert immediately spoke in a tone of such deep emotion that Sir Francis paused as he rose from his chair, and listened to him with an interest and a growing doubt of his guilty connexion with Learmont, that it would have given him the sincerest pleasure to verify.
“Sir,” said Albert, “I implore you for the sake of one for whom I have suffered much—one who I have loved, who I still love more fondly—more fervently than I love life itself, to search for the packet which long ago I told you was directed to yourself. How Jacob Gray came by his death as I hope for God’s mercy I know not.”