Sinclair remained for a moment in thought, then he said slowly, and with great deliberation, his eyes fixed on vacancy.
“Will the murderer confess?”
The sunlight outside seemed to accentuate the grim horror within, it was here that the crime had been committed, and the shadow of the dead man was almost visible to their eyes of imagination. Sinclair waited, and in that pause a chill feeling of fear made manifest seemed to pervade the room. In utter silence he waited, then in sharp, incisive words he said “Very well, then we must take extreme measures. Mr. Cook, will you please explain exactly what happened when you came here to see Lord Reckavile on the day of the murder?”
The wretched man seemed to crumple into a heap.
“Me, sir,” he stammered, his face like chalk. “Oh, God, what do you mean?”
He sprang to his feet, and gripped the back of his chair for support. The police officers looked at him with that gaze of proprietorship which they keep for a prospective candidate for the gallows. Brown was unconsciously wondering what length of drop would be required for him, and Andrews was wondering whether he had a pair of handcuffs to fit.
“Well,” said Sinclair, “don’t stand there saying nothing. You came and saw Lord Reckavile on the afternoon of the murder, that we know—what happened?”
“It is true that I came to him, and gave him his ground rents, as I have always done, but I swear to God that I simply took my receipt and went, I did not even come into this room. I saw him in the hall. That is why I never mentioned it before, I was afraid of being accused of the murder. I was only here a few minutes, Giles knows that don’t you?” and he looked wildly at the old butler.
Giles spoke slowly, evidently under deep emotion.
“May I say a word, sir,” he said to Sinclair.