As the physical indisposition wore off, and the whole situation of affairs became clearer to my scattered senses, the remembrance of what I had done was maddening.
"Oh, blind fool," I cried, "not to see, not to know what I was doing! Jones and Hardy, I call you both to witness most solemnly that I believe as firmly, as entirely in Mr. Atherton's innocence as I do in an eternal life to come. I charge you both, that, whatever testimony you may be forced to give, whatever miserable words have been wrung from me--I charge you both, by all you hold most sacred, to give evidence likewise that I believe him innocent."
"We will, sir," said the two men gravely.
Then a desperate idea seized me, and I motioned Hardy to leave the room.
"Jones," I said, when the clerk was gone, "you are a poor man, I know, and have many children to provide for. Get me off attending the inquest, and I will write you a cheque on the spot for any sum in reason you like to name."
"Bless your heart, sir, it an't in my power. Inspector Jackson has been in Wimpole street investigating it all; and I know your name's booked as one of the principal witnesses. You'll have your summons this evening for to-morrow, as safe as I'm here."
"Where is Mr. Atherton?" I asked.
"Inspector Jackson took him to Marylebone street, sir. He'll go before the magistrate at two o'clock. They won't get his committal, though, I expect until after the inquest; there is not sufficient evidence; but we're getting it as fast as we can."
"Yes," I said in the bitterness of my heart; "and if I had known your errand here, I'd have flung you down the stairs before you should have had access to my rooms."
"You can't be sorrier than I am, Mr. Kavanagh. I believe, like you, that he's an innocent man: but everything looks against him at present. The housekeeper's evidence is enough to hang him."