"Oh, dash!—I'm run short too, and I know daddy hasn't any in the house. Well, I must raise the wind in town somehow. It's an infernal nuisance about the delay of that letter. Nearly ten days since Denis wrote!"
"But look here," said Tom, getting out the question that was burning his tongue, "what's it all about? What are you accused of?"
"Murder; so now you know."
"Good God!"
Gardiner only laughed, and went on with his packing. Tom, after a moment's appalled silence, found words.
"Then in heaven's name, Harry, if you're innocent, why do you bolt? You're giving your case away. You'll never be able to show your face in England again—why, good heavens! it means that father will never see you again! It'll break his heart. Why on earth don't you stay and face it out?"
"Because I did it, my good chap." Gardiner faced his brother for the first time, sitting back on his heels. "Mind you, what I said to father was strictly true. I've done nothing to be ashamed of; nothing I wouldn't do again to-morrow—or you either, you pillar of respectability! If I were at liberty to explain all the circumstances I certainly wouldn't bolt. But I'm not; and there's the rub. Why?—oh, it's a complicated business; there are other people involved. That's why I'm departing in such a hurry. Cheer up, Thomas; it's less scandalous to have a brother in Callao than one dangling at the end of a string in Westby Jail. Better for father too. I can at least write to him."
Tom did not answer. Homicide is homicide, no matter what specious excuses Harry might manufacture; and after hearing his gloss on his downright denial to his father, Tom was not disposed to trust his assertions of innocence.
The room was in the front of the house, giving on the