r impatiently
thanking him, shook him off, and spoke with freedom and openness.

'I have nothing to keep back,' he said. 'Of course I know nothing of
this frightful murder, nor what villain could have got hold of the
rifle, which, I am sorry to say, is really mine. Last evening I used
it at drill and practice on Blewer Heath, and came home when it grew
dusk, getting in at about half-past nine. I was then told by Mrs.
Giles that my uncle wished to speak to me, and was displeased at my
staying out so late. I went into his room as I was, and put my rifle
down in a corner by the window, when he desired me to sit down and
listen to him. He then told me that he wished to send me to town by
the mail train, to take some cash to Drummond's Bank, and to return by
to-day's four o'clock train. He said he had reasons for wishing no one
to be aware of his opening an account there, and he undertook to
explain my absence. He took the sum from the private drawer of his
desk, and made me count it before him, L124 12s. in sovereigns and
bank-notes. The odd money he gave me for my expenses, the rest I put
in the bag that I fetched out of the office. He could not hold a pen,
and could therefore give me no letter to Messrs. Drummond, but he made
me write a receipt for the amount in his memorandum book. I wished him
good night, and left him still sitting in his easy-chair, with the
window open and the blind down. I found that I had forgotten my rifle,
but I did not go back for it, because he disliked the disturbance of
opening and shutting doors. While I was changing my dress, I saw from
the window that some one was still about in the court, and knowing that
my uncle wished me to avoid notice, I thought it best to let myself out
by the passage window, as I had sometimes done in early mornings to
bathe or fish, and go across the fields to Blewer Station. I got down
into the garden, crossed in the punt, and went slowly by Barnard's
hatch; I believe I stopped a good many times, as it was too soon, and a
beautiful moonlight night, but I came to Blewer soon after twelve, and
took my ticket. At Paddington I met this terrible news.'

As the boy spoke, his bright eyes turned from one listener to another,
as though expecting to read satisfaction on their faces; but as doubt
and disbelief clouded all, his looks became almost constantly directed
to Dr. May, and his voice unconsciously passed from a sound of
justification to one of pleading