“Never!” said he, with a feeling that he was pledging himself rather for the possibilities of the future than for anything in the present. “Not that there is anything in this affair to impair the most sensitive principles,” he added, smiling. “Professional etiquette is the most I have to consider, and that is not involved in the present question. As I was saying, I have been in the way of knowing a good deal about Bendibow, and my opinion is that the more complete his confession is, the less cause you will have for anxiety. At the same time, from something he let fall, I doubt whether his confession will be entirely without reserve.”
“What will he hold back?”
“I know of nothing in particular.”
“Anything about the murder of my father, for instance?”
“Do you suspect him of knowing anything about that?” demanded Fillmore, feeling astonished.
“One cannot help seeing that if the robber had been able to rifle his victim’s pockets, and had taken away that packet among other things, it would have been convenient for Sir Francis.”
“But if the contents of the packet were compromising to any one, the thief would have demanded a ransom—”
“Which the person compromised would have paid,—if he had not already paid it in advance,” said Perdita composedly.
“I don’t think Bendibow had it in him to go such lengths,” said Fillmore, after a long pause. “Besides, the fact that his son was killed at the same time....”
“It was a dark night,” remarked Perdita. “However, I don’t really believe it, either. But I’ve made up my mind that I want that packet. Sir Francis’ confession may agree with it; or—’tis just possible—he may try to tell a different story, in which event the packet might be useful.”