Prudence spoke earnestly. But there was caution in what she said. She did not trust her brother. And though she was ready to pay almost anything for the accomplishment of her purpose, she was not going to allow herself to be tricked.
Hervey didn’t like these stipulations. He had calculated to extort a price for his information only. 252 The proving of his charge was a matter which would entail time and trouble, and something else which he did not care to contemplate; besides, he wanted to get away. His recollection of his recent interview with Iredale was still with him. And he remembered well the rancher’s attitude. It struck him that George Iredale would fight hard to prove his innocence. He wondered uncomfortably if he could establish it. No, he must make a better bargain than the girl offered.
“See here, Prue, this is a matter of business. There is no sentiment in it as far as I am concerned. Your conditions are too hard. You pay me half the money down when I give you the story. You can pay the rest when I have carried out your further conditions. It is only fair. Establishing a case in the law courts is a thing that takes time. And, besides, I have known guilty people to get off before now. I can convince you of the truth of my case. A jury is different.”
Prudence thought for a moment. They were already within earshot of the thresher. And the droning of the machine and the jerky spluttering of the traction engine sounded pleasantly in the sultry atmosphere. The dog hobbled lazily at her heels, nor did he show the least sign of interest in his surroundings. The wagons loaded with bountiful sheaves were drawing up to the thresher from half-a-dozen directions, whilst those already emptied were departing for fresh supplies. Everywhere was a wondrous peace; only in those two hearts was an ocean of unrest.
“Very well. If you can convince me, it shall be as 253 you say. You shall have the money. The rest shall remain until after the jury’s verdict. I am not prepared to give you the money I have saved for any tale you choose to concoct. Now let me have your story. You have shown me too much of your sordid craving to make me a ready believer.”
“You will believe me before I have finished, Prue,” the man retorted, with a bitter laugh. “You will find corroboration for what I have to tell in your own knowledge of certain facts.”
“So much the better for you. Go on.”
In spite of her cautious words Prudence waited with nerves tingling and with rapidly beating heart for her brother’s story. She did not know herself. She did not understand the feelings which swayed her. Hervey had an easier task than either of them believed. Of late she had dwelt so long––so intently––upon the matter under discussion that she was ready to believe almost anything which offered a solution to the ghastly mystery. But she did not know this. Hervey told his story with all the cunning of a man who appreciates the results which attach to the effect of his words. He lost no detail which could further his ends.
“Grey, on his deathbed, alluded to the notice in the paper. He did so in answer to your question as to who had shot him?”
“Yes.”