“Oh, yes, it is. I can prove it, if necessary,” was the detective’s answer. “You knew that Howard Milmarsh the elder was in poor health. You had learned that his doctor gave him only a few more months of life, and predicted that he would die suddenly. All that was part of your knowledge.”
“I don’t care to stay here any longer,” abruptly declared Thomas Jarvis, rising to his feet. “I will go. But there will be proper officers here during the day to eject the rascals who are trying to steal my estate. Good morning!”
But the door was locked and the key in Nick Carter’s pocket.
“Better sit down till I have finished speaking,” he advised coolly. “I do not intend to let you leave this room until I am ready.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell the rest of my story, and then you can answer your own question. You will know what I mean.”
“Rot!”
Thomas Jarvis resumed his seat and stared at the detective. Those about the table observed that he seemed to have grown very much older in the last minute or two. His eyes had become dull, his jaw sagged, and he did not appear to be as truculent as he had been when he came into the room.
“The truth is,” went on Nick, “that you killed your son Richard in a quarrel, in the Old Pike Inn——”
“Carter!” protested Captain Brown. “This will ruin my house!”