“Did you come on here, Monk, before you started for Evesham this morning?” questioned the Squire.
“I didn’t come near the gardens, sir. I had told Jenkins last night to be on early,” replied Monk, bending over a blackened row of plants while he spoke. “I went the back way to the stables through the lane, had harnessed the horse to the cart, and was away before five.”
We quitted the greenhouse. The pater went out with Mr. Duffham, Tod and I followed. I, looking quietly on, had been struck with the contrast of manner between old Duff and Monk—he peering at Monk with his searching gaze, never once taking it off him; and Monk meeting nobody’s eyes, but shifting his own anywhere rather than meet them.
“About this queer arsenic tale Monk tells?” began the Squire. “Is there anything in it? Will it hold water?”
“Moonshine!” said old Duff, with emphasis.
The tone was curious, and we all looked at him. He had got his lips drawn in, and the top of his cane pressing them.
“Where did you take Monk from, Squire? Get a good character with him?”
“Jenkins brought him here. As to character, he had never been in any situation before. Why? Do you suspect him?”
“Um-m-m!” said the doctor, prolonging the sound as though in doubt. “If I do suspect him, he has caused me to. I never saw such a shifty manner in all my life. Why, he never once looked at any of us! His eyes are false, and his tones are false!”
“His tones? Do you mean his words?”