"Tell it out, sir. Let's have the whole catalogue at once."
"That the night my brother, Mr. Elster, was shot, you were out with the
poachers."
"I dare say you heard that I shot him, for I know it has been said,"
fiercely cried the man. "It's a black lie!--and the time may come when I
shall ram it down Calne's throat. I swear that I never fired a shot that
night; I swear that I no more had a hand in Mr. Elster's death than you
had. Will you believe me, sir?"
The accents of truth are rarely to be mistaken, and Val was certain he
heard them now. So far, he believed the man; and from that moment
dismissed the doubt from his mind, if indeed he had not dismissed it
before.
"Do you know who did fire the shot?"
"I do not; I was not out at all that night. Calne pitched upon me,
because there was no one else in particular to pitch upon. A dozen
poachers were in the fray, most of them with guns; little wonder the
random shot from one should have found a mark. I know nothing more
certain than that, so help--"
"That will do," interrupted Mr. Elster, arresting what might be coming;
for he disliked strong language. "I believe you fully, Pike. What part of
the country were you born in?"
"London. Born and bred in it."
"That I do not believe," he said frankly. "Your accent is not that of a
Londoner."
"As you will, sir," returned Pike. "My mother was from Devonshire; but I
was born and bred in London.
Pages:
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112