"Ah, I don't know. Real, I suppose. The man's dead you see, that young clergyman-fellow who came down, so he'd be hardly likely to get it up. I don't see how it could be done, either, in the present case. It's easier to suppress evidence of a marriage than it is to invent it. Still it may be on the cross."
"Can't you speak plain English, Richards."
"I hardly dare. But I suppose you could be silent, if I were to."
"I suppose I could. I have had secrets to carry in my lifetime weightier than this, whatever it may be."
Benjamin Carr lifted his hat, and wiped his brow with his handkerchief, as if the secrets were there and felt heavy still. Richards looked at him.
"You may speak out, Richards. You can't believe," he added, his tone changed to one of passionate pain, "that it is not safe with me."
"It must be kept safe for your own sake, for your family's sake. If any evidence has turned up, there's no cause to let the world know it before you are compelled. It would be damaging your cause irreparably."
Ben Carr nodded assent. "What is it?" he asked.
"Well, I think they have found out where the marriage was solemnized. I think so, mind; I am not positive. That is, I am not positive of the fact; only that they think it so."