Bede Greatorex nodded. "Yes, only that."
"But that's enough to transport him, you know," cried Butterby, slightly losing the drift of the argument.
"If we could bring him to book, yes. But that must not be done. I don't see who else it could have been," added Bede, communing with himself rather than addressing Mr. Butterby; and his face wore a strangely perplexed look.
"Could any of the household--the maidservants, for instance--get into this here room?" asked Mr. Butterby.
"There's not one of them would dare to risk it in the daytime. They are in the other house. No, no; I fear we must look to one of the young men in the next room."
Mr. Butterby nodded with satisfaction: matters seemed to be taking a more reasonable turn.
"Let's see; there's four of them," he began, beginning to tell the clerks off on his fingers. "The manager, Brown, confidential, you said, I think----"
"I did not say confidential," interrupted Bede Greatorex. "I said we placed great confidence in him. There's a distinction, Mr. Butterby."
"Of course. Then there's the little man, Jenner; and the others, Hurst and Yorke. Have you any doubt yourself as to say one of them?" quickly asked Mr. Butterby, looking full at the lawyer.
Bede Greatorex hesitated. "I cannot say I have. It would be so wrong, you know, to cast a doubt on either, when there is not sufficient cause; nothing but what may be a passing, foundationless fancy."