"I know no more about it than you," cried Francis Eversleigh, wildly; "and I do not know what to think.... I cannot think about it at all ... my brain refuses to act.... I have no idea ... it is all a terrible and horrible mystery to me!"
And then he flung up his hands, as if he were throwing off some weight which oppressed him.
"Oh, it is dreadful, dreadful, dreadful!" he cried; then burst into a passion of sobs, the sound and sight of which moved and distressed Gilbert exceedingly.
"Father! Father!" said the son, soothingly, in accents of deepest sympathy.
In a few moments Eversleigh grew calmer, and became a little more like his usual self.
"There is just one thing I'd like to ask you, father," said Gilbert; "that is, if it is not too painful for you."
"What is it, my son?"
"You uttered one word in that room over there," returned Gilbert, nodding in the direction of Stone Buildings.
"What?"
"The one word was 'Murder!' Do you think Mr. Thornton was murdered?"