At last they appeared to understand each other, and the vicar cleared his throat.
"The truth is, Sir John," he began, "I was interrupted in my work this evening by a visit from this young man"—inclining his head toward Brewer—"who informed me that it was he who shot you, accidentally, on the 29th September last——"
"Stuff and nonsense," Sir John snapped, withdrawing his shoulders suddenly from the mantelpiece. "Do you think I don't know a face when I see it?"
"And yet, sir, it were my face you saw," Brewer interposed suddenly.
"Don't believe it," Sir John replied, with a snort.
"You must admit, sir," Mr. Tregonning interposed apologetically, "that this young man is not unlike Ralph Penlogan."
"No more like him than I am," Sir John retorted, almost angrily.
"Anyhow, you had better hear the story from the young man's lips," said the vicar mildly, "then your own man Bilkins will give evidence that he saw him close to the plantation on the afternoon in question."
"Then why did you not say so?" Sir John snarled, glaring angrily at his gardener.
"'Tweren't for the likes of me," Bilkins said humbly, "to say anything as would seem to contradict what you said. I hopes I know my place."