"Upon your soul as a Christian you know that man wasn't lying."
I looked into his eyes—about six inches from mine.
"Boyce never murdered Althea," I said.
"But he is the man—the man I've been looking for."
I pushed him away with both hands, using all my strength. It was too horrible.
"Suppose he is. What then?"
He fell back a pace or two. "Once I remember saying: 'If ever I get hold of that man—God help him!'"
He clenched his fists and started to pace up and down the library, passing and repassing my chair. At last my nerves could stand it no longer and I called on him to halt.
"Gedge's story is curiously incomplete," said I. "We ought to have crossexamined him more closely. Is it likely that Boyce should have gone off leaving behind him a witness of his crime whom he had threatened to murder, and who he must have known would have given information as soon as the death was discovered? And don't you think Gedge's reason for holding his tongue very unconvincing? His fool hatred of our class, instead of keeping him cynically indifferent, would have made him lodge information at once and gloat over our discomfiture."
I could not choose but come to the defence of the unhappy man whom I had learned to call my friend, although, for all my trying, I could conjure up no doubt as to his intimate relation with the tragedy. As Sir Anthony did not speak, I went on.