"Thank God!" exclaimed Mr. Bulstrode; "we shall find the murderer."
"What do you mean?" asked John.
"Whoever killed James Conyers, killed him in order to rob him of the money that he had upon him at the time of his death."
"But who could have known of the money?" asked Aurora.
"Anybody; the pathway through the wood is a public thoroughfare. Your conversation with the murdered man may have been overheard. You talked about the money, I suppose?"
"Yes."
"Thank God, thank God! Ask your wife's pardon for the cruel wrong you have done her, John, and then come downstairs with me. It's past nine, and I dare say Mr. Grimstone is waiting for us. But stay,—one word, Aurora. The pistol with which this man was killed was taken from this house, from John's room. Did you know that?"
"No; how should I know it?" Mrs. Mellish asked naïvely.
"That fact is against the theory of the murder having been committed by a stranger. Is there any one of the servants whom you could suspect of such a crime, John?"
"No," answered Mr. Mellish decisively; "not one."