The magistrate, who seemed to be a delightfully independent gentleman, cut his eloquence short.
"You will oblige me by sitting down, Mr. Gunn," he observed coldly. "I have no intention of granting a further remand until I have heard everything that these witnesses have to say. Go on, Mr. Milford."
"Well, sir, when the master saw what sort of a gentleman Mr. Burton was, he made him an offer straight out to change places. Mr. Burton was to put on his clothes, and go back to Park Lane, and pretend for three weeks that he was Mr. Northcote."
A kind of half-delighted, half-incredulous gasp ran round the court. Whether Milford's evidence was legally permissible or not, there could be no doubt that the public were intensely satisfied.
"Really, this is most interesting," observed the magistrate dryly. "And the accused apparently accepted Mr. Northcote's enterprising offer? Was he aware of the latter's reasons for wishing to disappear?"
"According to what the master told me, sir, Mr. Burton knew that he might be murdered, but that was about all, sir. He was paid well, and he was prepared to take the risk."
"And what do you call being paid well?"
Milford shook his head. "I don't know, sir. The master didn't say. He only told me that he gave Mr. Burton some hints about the house and about the people he was likely to meet, and that they dressed up in each other's clothes, and Mr. Burton went back to Park Lane."
"And what did Mr. Northcote do?"
"He put up at Bruce House for the night, sir. The next morning he went down east, and bought some second-hand sailor's clothes. His idea was to get away quiet to Australia; but there wasn't any ship for four days, so he took the room in Baxter's Rents. He'd been lying up there ever since."