"Maybe it's the name of it, sir," the young man went on. "But I feel terrible bitter against the place. But the point now is, what are we going to do with Ralph Penlogan, and what are you going to do with me?"
"Well, really I hardly know," the vicar said, looking uncomfortable. "You do not own to committing any crime. You were trespassing, certainly—perhaps I ought to say poaching. But—well, I think I ought to consult Mr. Tregonning, and—well, yes—Budda. Would you mind waiting while I send and ask Mr. Tregonning to come on?"
"No; I'll do anything you wish. Now I've started, I want to go straight on to the end."
Mr. Seccombe was back again in a few moments.
"May I ask," he said, with his eyes on the carpet, "if you saw anyone on the afternoon in question, or if anyone saw you?"
"Only Bilkins."
"He's one of Sir John's gardeners, I think."
"Very likely."
"And you were in the plantation when he saw you?"
"Oh no; I was on the common."