“You need not be afraid, Fred. Come along. I’ll do anything I can for you. Don’t you know me?—Johnny Ludlow.”
“For the love of Heaven, put that light out, Johnny!” he said, feeling it perhaps useless to hold out, or else deciding to trust me, as he came down the aisle in a stooping position, so that the pews might screen him from the windows. And I put it out.
“I thought you had gone out of the church with old Bumford,” said he. “I heard you both come away from the organ, and then the door was slammed, leaving the church to silence.”
“I was searching after the candle and matches. When did you come here, Fred? How did you get in?”
“I got in last night. Is there much of a row, Johnny?”
“Pretty well. How came you to do it?”
“To do what?”
“Shoot Gisby.”
“It was not I that shot him.”
“Not you!”