"And I am just as convinced that if the crime is brought home to me, the law will find me guilty and hang me in due course. What judge or jury would for one moment give credence to my plea of somnambulism? It would be brushed aside as an attempt, at once foolish and futile, to escape the consequences of my act. Pray disabuse your mind on that point, my dear Rodd. And now, as regards the moral guilt of the act. If the notion of my wife's death, and of the vast difference such an event would make to me, had not been a factor--embryonic, if you will--in my mind, if it had not found receptivity there, would it ever have evolved itself in action in the way it has done?"
"For all that, a man who, while sleep walking, kills another cannot be deemed guilty of murder," protested Rodd dogmatically.
"Undoubtedly he can, and ought to be so deemed morally; because, believe me, he must already have been guilty in thought--although not necessarily in intention--and, under such circumstances as we are considering, the deed itself is merely the natural outcome of the rudimentary idea."
Again Rodd shook his head. Evidently he was not open to conviction.
"Had we not better make our way to the Towers without further delay?" he asked. "It is known that I came in search of you, and your prolonged absence may excite suspicion."
Drelincourt turned on him with one of his peculiar smiles.
"Why hurry ourselves, my dear Rodd? Let the first scare get itself over; we shall be in excellent time for the sequel. What a lovely nook is this! I could linger here for hours. Look how that shaft of sunlight quivers through the crowns of yonder elms. But thou hast no eye for such effects, Rodd; thou art woefully lacking in artistic insight. See! a squirrel. What a pretty rascal it is?"
Roden had risen. "I am waiting for you, Felix," he said coldly. "But perhaps you wish me to leave you here and go back alone."
Although Roden Marsh addressed his foster brother as "Felix" when they were alone, in the presence of others he always spoke of and to him as "Mr. Drelincourt."
"What a restless, weariful mortal thou art," said the latter. "Come, then, let us go!"