"Ah, they had all something to do with Counsellor Myers, so to say. Jenner was the clerk in chambers. Hurst's father was the surgeon called in at the death; Yorke was in Port Natal at the time, but his folks knew him. Talkative young fellows, all the lot; like gossip, I'll be bound, better than work. I'll answer that one of 'em does--Mr. Roland Yorke."
A smile crossed the manager's face at thought of Roland's work. "When I hear them begin to speak of the late Mr. Ollivera's death, I stop it at once," he remarked. "Jenner is very much given to it, never considering whose office he is in. The name of a man who has committed self-destruction, cannot be pleasant to his relations."
"As to self-destruction," spoke Mr. Butterby, with a nod, "I don't say it was that in Ollivera's case. I don't say it was not. There's only two people have held out against it; and they've been obstinate enough in the cause for two thousand. Parson Ollivera, and the young woman in this house, Alletha Rye."
"On the other hand," observed the clerk, "some are as positive that he did commit it. Mrs. Jones for one, Mr. Bede Greatorex for another. They possess the same knowledge of the details that the other two do, and are certainly as able of conclusion."
Jonas Butterby opened his mouth, as if to let in a whiff of air to his teeth, for he closed it again without speaking. In the heat of argument his usual cautious reticence had for once nearly failed him, and he all but betrayed his private opinion--that Bede Greatorex had grown to suspect Godfrey Pitman.
"Who told you that Bede Greatorex holds to that view, Mr. Brown?"
"It is well known he does. I have heard him say so myself."
"He did, and no mistake," nodded the shrewd detective, who, upon reflection, saw no reason why he should not speak out. "He made as sure that it was suicide, at the time, as you are that that's a inkpot afore you. But if he has not drawed round a bit to the contrary opinion, my name's not Jonas Butterby. Bede Greatorex, in his innard breast, has picked up doubts of the missing man, that worthy Pitman."
Mr. Brown got up to do something to the window-blind, and the peculiar look that crossed his face--not a smile, not a spasm of pain, not a sharp contraction of fear, but something of all three--was thereby hidden from his visitor. He was calm enough when he came back again.
"Did Mr. Bede Greatorex tell you so?"