nose to below the level of the sunken cheeks; and the beady eyes seemed more prominent by contrast, as they glittered upon Tom’s visible abhorrence. In an instant, however, the abhorrence changed to recognition, and a great light blinded Tom.
“My God!” he gasped. “The man that did it!”
“Did what?”
“What I’m here for—the murder of Captain Blaydes! It was you who killed him—it was you! I saw you close to the spot that night. Never shall I forget you—and this is the receipt I gave him! I took it just now from your hand!”
“An’ where do yer think I took it from?”
“The dead man’s pocket”
“That there desk!”
In the cool dark study there followed no immediate sound save the importunate ticking of the kettle-drum clock—beating a roll-call to deaf ears. At last Tom said, “Tell me—tell me!” And his voice was very weak; he was leaning heavily on the chimney-piece, and now his elbow hid the time.
Wyeth removed a hand from the back of his head, looked at the blood upon it, and grimly showed it to Tom.
“You’ve been rough with me, you ’ave, when you should ha’ taken me to your ’art; but I will tell you, ’cos I ain’t that much to lose, an’ it may mean my ticket if you stand by me like a true man. Say you’ll do that an’ I’ll tell you every blessed thing!”
“I will stand by you through thick and thin,” said Tom.
The other eyed him for several seconds.
“I do believe you will,” said he. “It’s a bargain
