"I think it may be avoided, sir. For a little while past, I have foreseen that some such a crisis as this would come: and I have dwelt and dwelt upon it until I seem to be able to track out my way in it perfectly clear."
Bede cracked the coal in the grate; which did not require cracking. "Do you mean that you have foreseen Miss Rye would be taken? Such a thought in regard to her never crossed my mind."
"Nor mine. I allude to myself, sir. If once I was discovered to be the so-called Godfrey Pitman--and some instinct told me the discovery was at last approaching--I knew that I should, in all probability, be charged with the murder of Mr. Ollivera. I--an innocent man--would not suffer for this, Mr. Greatorex; I should be obliged, in self-defence, to repel the accusation: and I have been considering how it might be done without compromising others. I think it can be."
"How?" repeated Bede shortly.
"By my not telling the whole truth. By not knowing--I mean not having recognized the--the one--who would be compromised if I did tell it. I think this is feasible, sir."
Just a momentary glance into each other's eyes; no more; and it spoke volumes. Bede, facing the fire again, stood several minutes in deep consideration. George Winter seemed occupied with one of his gloves that had a refractory button.
"In any case it must now be known who you are," said Bede.
"That will not signify. In throwing the onus of the----" he seemed to hesitate, as he had once hesitated in the last sentence--"the death off Miss Rye, I throw it equally off my own shoulders. I have for some months wished that I could declare myself."
"Why have you not done it?"
George Winter looked at his master, surprise in his eyes. "It is not for my own sake that I have kept it concealed, sir."