"Who was the man?" asked Judge Kene--and Mr. Butterby, as he heard the question, gave a kind of derisive sniff. "Come; tell us that, Mr. Winter."
"I cannot tell you," was George Winter's answer. "Whoever it was he went down the stairs quickly. I was looking over top balustrades then, and caught but a transient glimpse of him."
"But you saw his face beforehand?--when he looked out of the room?"
"I saw someone's face. Only for a minute. Had I known what was to come of it later, I might have noticed better."
"And this is all you have to tell us?" cried Henry William Ollivera in agitation.
"Indeed it is all. But it is sufficient to exonerate Miss Rye."
"And now, Bede, what do you know?" suddenly spoke Mr. Greatorex. "You have acknowledged to me that you suspected at the time it was not a case of suicide."
Bede Greatorex came forward. All eyes were turned upon him. That he was nerving himself to speak, and far more inwardly agitated than appeared on the surface, the two practised observers saw. Judge Kene looked at him critically and curiously: there was something in the case altogether, and in Bede himself, that puzzled him.
"It is not much that I have to tell," began Bede, in answer to his father, as he put his hand heavily on the table, it might be for a support to rest on: and his brow seemed to take a pallid hue, and the silver threads in his once beautiful hair were very conspicuous as he stood. "A circumstance caused me to suspect that it was not a case of suicide. In fact, that it was somewhat as Mr. Brown has described it to be--namely, that someone else caused the death."
A pause of perfect silence, It seemed to Bede that the very coals, cracking in the grate, sounded like thunder.