“No, Morley, I do not. But I think that, if you get a chance, you’ll hang him.”
“Hang Mr. Philip? Me? No, not—not if he’d killed Mr. Edwin a dozen times over.”
“On the contrary, if you don’t take care, you’ll hang him, although he hasn’t killed Mr. Edwin even once. If they were to put you into the witness-box, and you were to tell that tale, your evidence would need but the slenderest corroboration to send him to the gallows right away.”
“Mr. Ferguson!”
“Morley, you must know that you had not the slightest right to tell me what you have done. Fortunately your information has been imparted to a person who will not make an injurious use of it; but, if you take my serious advice, you will not breathe a word of it to any other living soul. You will go straight home, and you will say nothing to any one; and you will know nothing either.”
“But—but where is Mr. Philip, sir?”
“What business is that of yours? I take it that he is free to regulate his movements without consulting you. Whatever concern you may feel, you will not allow a hint of it to escape you—that is, if you have your master’s interests at heart!”
There came an imperious rapping at the door.
“Who’s there?”
“It’s I—Inspector Symonds, of the Criminal Investigation Department. Be so good, Mr. Ferguson, as to open the door.”