"Well, this is what I call gossip, Gilbert, and makes me feel as if I were in Boston again. We ought to have a cup of tea and a bit of toast and a cozy fire to enjoy it fully, though. Which of the suitors, pray, does Miss Betty favor—your uncle or the other man?"
"Uncle Job, Constance thinks."
"I'll bet she is right, too, if Miss Betty is a girl of sense, and she is or your uncle wouldn't care for her. So the rivalry has been on for a long time—before you had that scare in Murderer's Hollow, probably?"
"Yes, long before that."
"Well, you have a fine ear for gossip, Gilbert, if you are not much of a detective. Let me see now," he went on, "if I have everything straight"; and with that he began to question me afresh about the robbery, and the money, and the shape it was in, and how and where Uncle Job lived, and about his business and love affair, and a thousand other things of which I could see no point whatever.
"You have not told me when the trial is to come off," he exclaimed, finally, "or isn't that decided yet?"
"In three days from now."
"Whew! but they are speedy! Let me see, the robbery happened eight days ago. That is hardly giving him time to turn around."
"That's what I think, but Mr. Seymour says it's the way, and that Uncle Job wishes it hurried," I answered.
"Yes; and it's as good a way as any. The sooner men are tried and afforded a chance to prove their innocence, or stand convicted, the more likely justice is to be done. Only time enough should be given to get together the evidence. More than that is a trick."