"Norton Hyde escaped from prison"—puff—"Norton Hyde hangs himself"—puff—"Norton Hyde is duly sat upon by a coroner and a jury"—puff—"Norton Hyde is buried in a prison grave." He looked at the lighted end of his cigar carefully, and tossed the match from him. "And yet my dear friend, Norton Hyde, stands before me. Any answer to that puzzle?" He looked at me and at the doctor, and laughed quietly.
Truly the game appeared to be in his hands, and I knew enough of him to know that he was a man to be feared. It was, of course, a mere coincidence that the man who had helped me to my ruin was a friend of this man upon whose hospitality I had so unceremoniously flung myself; nor did it mend matters to know that he was a friend of the dead boy. I think we both waited for his next remark, knowing pretty well what it would be.
"A natural answer springs up at once to the puzzle," he went on, seeming literally to swell his great bulk at us in his triumph. "Some man was buried as Norton Hyde—some man who must have been able to pass muster for him. What man could that have been?"
"You're getting on dangerous ground: I tell you you'd better let it alone," broke in the doctor warningly.
But the other man went on as though the doctor had not spoken. "Some man lies in that grave, who has disappeared, and for whom no enquiry has been made. Now, who can that man be? What man is there that hasn't been seen for some days—what man is there that is being looked for now?"
In the tense silence of the room, while the man looked from one to the other of us, absolutely dominating the situation, there came an interruption that was so terrible, and so much an answer to what the man was asking, that I could have shrieked out like a frightened woman. Behind him, where he stood, I saw the door of the study slowly opening, and then the smiling face of the little grey-haired man looked round it. Scoffold did not see him; only the doctor and I turned our startled faces to the smiling face of Capper. And Capper spoke—
"Forgive me, gentlemen"—and Scoffold swung round on the words and faced him—"I'm looking for my master, Mr. Pennington."
"Gregory Pennington, by the Lord!" shouted Harvey Scoffold, with a great clap of his hands together.
The doctor turned quickly to the door. I saw him thrust Capper outside, and close the door, and turn the key in it. He put the key in his pocket, and his eyes looked dangerous; he was as a man driven at bay.
"Well, you think you've made some great and wonderful discovery," he snapped. "Perhaps you have—at all events, you shall know the truth of the matter from beginning to end. I'll keep nothing back."