"An' now 'e'll 'ave to tell anuvver tale!" he exclaimed. "If it comes to that, 'oo's to say 'e didn't do the job 'imself; 'e was in the 'ouse."
It was not my purpose to bring the man to justice; it would go hard with me, as well, perhaps, with Andrew Ferkoe, if I made any attempt to slip a noose about the fellow's neck. Yet, much as I loathed the man, I realised that the killing of my Uncle Zabdiel had not been any premeditated affair; it had been a blow struck, brutally enough, for his own liberty by this man who now sat before me. My purpose was to use him, if possible, as an instrument for myself, to trade upon my knowledge of what he had done, and so bind him first to silence about myself and who I was, and next to assist me in the finding of Debora and the destruction of Bardolph Just's plans. I set about that now without more ado.
"As I have said, it would be easy enough to prove the matter," I answered, "and I should have the satisfaction of seeing you hang; but that's not my plan. We are the only people who know the truth, and we shall not speak."
I saw Andrew Ferkoe glance at me swiftly for a moment; as for Rabbit, he sat gaping at me as though he had not heard aright. "You mean it?" he gasped.
"Of course I do; I'm a man of my word," I answered him. "But there is a condition attaching to it, and that condition must be respected. I'm not the man to be played with, and I've got you in a tighter place than you think. Play with me, and you'll play with fire; of that I warn you."
"Now, look 'ere, guv'nor," answered the man in an altered tone, "am I likely to play any tricks, seein' 'ow I'm placed? Gents both, I give yer my solemn word I never meant to put the old gent's light out. I jist meant to git wot I could quietly. I 'ad a sort of idea that 'e might keep money on the premises. As it was, I got next to nuffink, an' wot I did git I don't dare part wiv, for fear I should be nabbed. I never thought 'e'd wake up, but w'en 'e come out there, an' tried to 'it me wiv the stick, I jist jerked it out of 'is 'and, an' gave 'im one for 'imself to keep 'im quiet. I ain't excusin' meself; I know I done it, an' that's all there is to it."
"In the first place, you will know me, if you know me at all, always as John New; the other man, once a fellow-prisoner of yours, lies buried in that prison. Am I right?" I asked the question sternly.
"I'll take my oath of it," he asserted solemnly. "W'y, now I come to look at yer," he added, with a grin, "you ain't no more like Norton 'Yde than wot I am."
"Don't overdo it," I suggested. "Now, in the second place, you remember a young lady—a ward of Dr. Just?"
"Yus, I know 'er; wot of it?" he asked.