“I suspect more than that, sir.”
The man’s words were curiously significant. He had a bit of fern in his hand, and his fresh, open, intelligent face was bent downwards, as if he wanted to see what the leaf was made of.
“I am not sure, sir. It is but suspicion at the best: but it’s an uncommonly strong one.”
“Won’t you tell me what you mean? You may trust me.”
“Yes, I am sure I may,” he said, promptly. “And I think I will tell you—though I have never breathed it to mortal yet. I think Matilda did it herself.”
Backing away from the counter in my surprise, I upset an empty milk-can.
“Matilda!” I exclaimed, picking up the can.
“Mr. Johnny, with all my heart I believe it to have been so. I have believed it for some time now.”
“But the girls were too friendly to harm one another. I remember you said so yourself, Owen.”