"I take it, Mr. Fanshawe, that you were aware that this I.O.U.—I refer to the first one—had been given by your ward to the dead man."
"I saw it written," was the answer.
"And the second one was given on the night before the murder?"
"Under similar circumstances—yes," replied Fanshawe.
It further came out, under skilful examination, that this worthy Mr. Jervis Fanshawe had actually got the prisoner away to London, and had refused to reveal the whereabouts of Gavin Hockley; had only yielded, in fact, under the belief that the two young men were to make up their differences. I watched him closely during this time, but he avoided my eyes as much as possible, and gave his evidence in short jerky sentences; I believe it was felt that he was labouring under strong emotion.
My counsel had before him a task that was hopeless enough. I would tell him nothing save that I had killed the man; I was deaf to all his pleadings. He could only do what was in his power to upset the evidence that had been given; he started on a track with my guardian that amazed and frightened me.
"You went down to Hammerstone Market, Mr. Fanshawe, with your ward, to attend a wedding?" he began. "Can you tell us if the prisoner had any interest in any way in that wedding?"
"He knew the parties, as I did," replied my guardian.
"There was no possibility of any quarrel having arisen out of any jealous motive?"
I held my breath, and wondered what the man would say. He glanced at me for a moment; I do not exaggerate when I say that he cowered beneath the look I gave him.