“That was a different case altogether.”
“I know what I’m about,” returned Jones. “The coroner, he just give me a nod or two, looking at Crew as he give it. I knew what it meant, sir: a nod’s as good as a wink to a blind horse.”
Anyway, Jones had him, here in the lock-up: and had gone off to enter the loaf in the account-book; and I was sitting on the bench opposite Abel.
“It is a wicked shame of them to have put you here, Abel.”
“It is not legal—as I believe,” he answered. “And I am sure it is not just, sir. I swear those pills and that box produced at the inquest were none of mine. They never went out of my hands. Old Jones thinks he is doing right to secure me, I suppose, and he is civil over it; so I must not grumble. He brought me some water to wash in this morning, and a comb.”
“But there’s no sense in it. You would not attempt to escape; you would wait for the reassembling of the inquest.”
“Escape!” he exclaimed. “I should be the first to remain for it. I am more anxious than any one to have the matter investigated. Truth to say, Master Johnny, my curiosity is excited. Hester Reed is so persistent in regard to their being the pills and box that I gave her; and as she is a truthful honest woman, one can’t see where the mistake lies. There must be a mystery in it somewhere.”
“Suppose you are committed to take your trial? And found guilty?”
“That I shall be committed, I look upon as certain,” he answered. “As to being found guilty—if I am, I must bear it. God knows my innocence, and I shall hope that in time He will bring it to light.”
“All the same, Abel, they ought not to put you in here.”