“His relations?”
“Yes, sir. When he comed to live here, he says, says he, my relations would take my life if they could. That’s what he said. Well, I didn’t think much of that, but last night—no, it was after twelve, for I recollect I’d heard the Abbey-clock strike, ’cos the wind blowed in that quarter. Well, I was a listening to the rain, when I heard never such a smash in my shop. ‘What’s that?’ says I, and without more ado, I gets a light, and I goes out.”
“Well, and you saw the young man?”
“No, I didn’t sir. There was two villains, sir—one was a amazing tall villain, and the other was uncommon big, only the amazing tall villain looked so in consequence of being so desperate thin, he did. Well, sir, the other villain, not the amazing tall one, he asks where master Gray lives, and I tells him, then he says as he’s his uncle, and desires me to say nothink, and ties me to my blessed bed post and laughed in my face. The idea, sir, of laughing at a lone woman.”
“Seyton has spoken the truth,” said Sir Francis; “Learmont and Britton have murdered Gray.”
“Sir,” said the woman.
“Nothing—nothing; is there any one else in the house?”
“Yes sir; there’s an old lady up stairs, and she says as she gave a light to one of the murderers.”
“All confirms his statement,” thought Hartleton; “all that now remains for me to do is to secure Gray’s confession.” Turning then to his officers, he said,—
“Show me to the murdered man’s room,” and following them up the narrow staircase, a few minutes brought him to the presence of the awful remains of Jacob Gray. Sir Francis shuddered as he looked upon the dreadful spectacle, and turning away his eyes, he said,—