"Steady!" echoed Mrs. Dare. "What has steadiness to do with executing business? And, as to being alone, Quaker Lynn went over also."
"But at the outset, which was the time I spoke to him, Mr. Ashley's intention was to dispatch only one—Halliburton. He said that Cyril's want of steadiness would always have been a bar to his thinking of him. Shall I go on and enlighten you on the other point—the cheque?" Mr. Dare added, after a pause.
"Y—es," she answered, a nervous dread causing her to speak with hesitation. Had she a foreshadowing of what was coming?
"It was Cyril who took it," said Mr. Dare, dropping his voice to a whisper.
"Cyril!" she gasped.
"Our son, Cyril. No other."
Mrs. Dare took her hand from her cheek, and leaned back in the chair. She was very pale.
"He was traced to White's shop, where he changed the cheque for gold. He had put on Herbert's cloak, the plaid lining outside. When he began to fear detection, he ripped the lining out, and left the cloak in the state it is; now in the possession of the police. Some of the jags and cuts have been sewn up, I suppose by one of the servants: I made no close inquiries. That cloak," he added, with a passing shiver, "might tell queer tales of our sons, if it were able to speak."
"How did you know it was Cyril?" breathed Mrs. Dare.
"From Delves."