“Ogledon killed him; that much I know, from his own lips,” said the little man, after a pause. “You see, you have taken his place so neatly, that it has never occurred to anybody to imagine that Dandy is dead. I was always sorry for Dandy—oh—don’t laugh at me; I’m a drunken little creature, of no good to any one—but Dandy would have been all right, if it hadn’t have been for Ogledon. Ogledon took him, when he was a mere lad, and moulded him as he would. And then killed him to finish it. But there’s worse than that.”
“Worse!” cried Philip. “What do you mean? What can be worse than that?”
“Do you know a young girl named Marnham? No—Barnham—Barn——”
“Barnshaw?” asked Philip, with his heart beginning to beat uncomfortably fast.
“Barnshaw it is. Lives at a house near here. Well—Ogledon’s been sweet on her for a long time, although, from what I hear, she would have nothing to say to him.”
“Heaven bless her! I should think not, indeed!”
“Well—Ogledon made up his mind to get hold of her; he has sent her an urgent message to go to him, on the plea that he can explain about you.”
“About me?” said Philip, in astonishment.
“Yes—or rather about Dandy Chater. That was the message: ‘I can tell you the truth about Dandy Chater.’ At least, so the Shady ’un told me.”
“The Shady ’un? What has he to do with it?”