"His nephew?"
"Charles Eade; but I do not think he is his nephew. Let me reconstruct the plot. Supposing Eade, either from Mr. Baines or from some assistant in his shop, heard of Parrish and his eccentricities, he would naturally assume that a lot of money was kept in this house. When, a year ago, Mr. Parrish wanted a housekeeper the opportunity came to establish a footing here; so Mrs. Ashworth, the accomplice, came to Thornfield. A man like Parrish would be secretive, not easy to watch; but in time the housekeeper would find out where he hid his money, and would note the books. She would only be able to note those used during the past year—the eight books which are missing, Wigan. Now the robbery had to be carefully arranged, suspicion must be thrown upon someone, and Hall was at hand. To emphasize his need of money, the salver was pawned, I thought by Mrs. Ashworth, but doubtless Eade did it himself, choosing a busy time. The scoundrels chose the night when Hall was having supper with the old man, and whether the original intention was robbery only or murder, everything worked in their favor. Eade took the eight books away that night, and the housekeeper stayed to give the alarm and tell her story. Now, mark what happens. After the murder a will is found in which eighteen books are mentioned, and immediately we hear through Mrs. Ashworth that Mr. Parrish has a nephew living, who, as the constable tells us, had laid claim to the property. The villains are greedy, and want the other ten volumes."
"Is there any real evidence to support the story, professor?"
"Yes; those eight missing books, which will be found in the possession of Charles Eade."
Few men have received less sympathy than Charles Eade when he paid the last penalty of the law. He was not only a murderer, but had intended to let an innocent man suffer. The missing volumes were found, and some of the money saved; and it was a satisfaction that Mrs. Ashworth, who was sentenced to a long term of imprisonment, confessed. Her story agreed with Quarles's theory in almost every particular, even to the fact that Eade was no relation to the dead man.
Quarles and I visited the Halls afterward, and the professor very simply told them of his experience, offering no explanation, expressing no opinion.
But as we traveled back to London, he said to me:
"If men were ready to receive them, such manifestations of mercy would be constant experiences. Is it not only natural they should be? Take a child; he is only happy and secure because every moment of his life his parents help him, protect him, think for him. Without such care and thought, would he live to become a man? It is a marvelous thing that, whereas a child learns to lean wholly on the wisdom of his parents, man, as a rule, seems incapable of wholly trusting an Almighty wisdom; and, when he is forced to realize it, calls it miraculous. The miracle would be if these things did not happen."
I did not answer. We were both silent until the train ran into Paddington.