between true man and true man! Well, then, that night—”
“Stop!” said Tom. “We will have another pair of ears.” He went to the door and called loudly for Peggy. No answer; his voice reverberated through an empty house. He had seen the Fawcetts start for Sydney an hour ago (even now he did not realise why); but Peggy had wilfully deserted; and he was alone on the premises with this hideous ruffian.
“Go on,” said he. “What about that night? I met you not three hundred yards from the stile where the body was found; and you were going that way!”
“I was,” said Wyeth, “an’ when I come near, what d’ye think I heard? A couple of swells having a row; in ’alf a shake it come to blows, an’ I counted five before there was a bit of a thud, and the one who’d been calling out ‘My Gawd—my Gawd!’ ’e shut up, but the other went on saying ‘You devil!’—through ‘is teeth—jes’ like that—until I come up. I keeps quiet and sees one swell take a lot o’ papers outer the other swell’s pocket, when in I steps. You should ha’ seen the one as was pocketin’ the papers! Up he jumps, with a thick stick dripping at the end, and before you can say Jack Robinson ’e ’as me on the conk, an’ that’s the end o’ me!”
“Did you ever see him again?” Tom’s voice rang strange with horror and weariness; he did not want his freedom; he was sick of the life that Daintree had given him back, of the world to which Daintree had restored him. His benefactor! The man filled his mind in that first light only—and in this last!
“Yes, I see him at your trial,” said Wyeth; “but I’m coming to that. Meanwhile I’m only silly, and what do
