“To be sure you have, Judy.”
“But, Master Arthur, why is the master casting blame to you? And when them insolent police came strutting here to-day, as large as life, in their ugly blue coats and shiny hats, why didn’t you hold the door wide, and show ‘em out again? I’d never have demeaned myself to go with ‘em politely.”
“They wanted me at the town-hall, you know, Judith. I suppose you have heard it all?”
“Then, want should have been their master, for me,” retorted Judith. “I’d never have gone, unless they had got a cord and drawn me. I shouldn’t wonder but they fingered the money themselves.”
Arthur made his escape, and went up to his room. He was scarcely within it when Hamish left his chamber and came in. Arthur’s heart beat quicker. Was he coming to make a clean breast of it? Not he!
“Arthur,” Hamish began, speaking in a kindly, but an estranged tone—or else Arthur fancied it—“can I serve you in any way in this business?”
“Of course you cannot,” replied Arthur: and he felt vexed with himself that his tone should savour of peevishness.
“I am sorry for it, as you may readily believe, old fellow,” resumed Hamish. “When I entered the court to-day, you might have knocked me down with a feather.”
“Ay, I should suppose so,” said Arthur. “You did not expect the charge would be brought upon me.”
“I neither expected it nor believed it when I was told. I inquired of Parkes, the beadle, what unusual thing was going on, seeing so many people about the doors, and he answered that you were under examination. I laughed at him, thinking he was joking.”