‘That’s not bad, captain,’ rejoined the detective with an admiring smile. ‘But these letters—which you will excuse me taking from your pocket—will show that one part of my statement is correct.—Do they belong to you, sir?’
He handed the three fatal letters to the Squire, who hastily glanced at them, whilst his wife stood on one side of him and Mrs John on the other.
‘Why, that is the letter which I received!’ observed Mrs Joseph with acerbity.
‘And that is mine; and the other is the one which has upset poor dear Nellie so much!’ cried Mrs John.
‘It was to ask you again to allow me to destroy those confounded letters, that I came to seek you, Squire, thinking that I might find you here alone after dinner,’ the Major explained. ‘I heard some one moving about the room, and, concluding that it was you, knocked two or three times. Getting no answer, I entered, but found nobody here. As the window was open, it occurred to me that you might have stepped out on the terrace, and I looked for you. Of course you were not there, but it must have been then that this man saw me.’
‘No doubt,’ answered the Squire slowly; ‘but he found you at my drawer.’
‘My anxiety to prevent a scandal to the family tempted me to take back my letters—for they are mine—and burn them without your leave. I knew that you would pardon me when you heard the explanation which you will have to-morrow.’
Whilst the Major spoke, the Squire was frowning.
‘According to your own statement, Major Dawkins, your conduct has not been creditable to you as an honourable man.’
‘I acted for the best, as you would see if you would give me leave to speak to you in private.’