"You cannot hesitate, Ollivera. This poor unhappy woman, Alletha Rye, must be brought to answer for her crime. Think of him, your brother, and my once dear friend, lying unavenged in his shameful grave! Humanity is a great and a good virtue, but John's memory must outweigh it."
"Yes, yes; I am thinking of him always," murmured the clergyman, his face lighting.
The initiative was taken by Mr. Greatorex. On the departure of the Judge and the clergyman, who went out together, Mr. Greatorex dropped a line to Scotland Yard. Butterby happened to be there, and answered it in person. Shortly and concisely Mr. Greatorex gave his orders.
"And I have no resource but to act upon them," coolly observed the imperturbable Butterby. "But I don't think the party was Alletha Rye."
"You don't!" exclaimed Mr. Greatorex.
"No, sir, I don't. Leastways, to my mind, there's grave reasons against it. The whole affair, from beginning to end, seems encompassed with nothing but doubts; and that's the blessed truth."
"I would like to ask you if Alletha Rye has or has not made a confession to you this evening, Mr. Butterby--to the effect that she was the one who killed Mr. Ollivera?"
"If nobody was in the house but her--as she said--she's been talking," thought the detective. "Confound these women for simpletons! They'd prate their necks away."
But Mr. Greatorex ins looking at him, waiting for the answer.
"I was with Alletha Rye this evening; I went there for my own purposes, to see what I could get out of her; little suspecting she'd say what she did. But I don't believe her any the more for having said it. The fact is Mr. Greatorex, that in this case there's wheels within wheels, a'most more than any I've ever had to do with. I can't yet disclose what they are even to you; but I'm trying to work them round and make one spoke fit into another."