“Governors Both” glanced at him.
“You mentioned (twice, I think) a daughter of this Hexam’s,” said Eugene, aloud. “You don’t mean to imply that she had any guilty knowledge of the crime?”
The honest man, after considering—perhaps considering how his answer might affect the fruits of the sweat of his brow—replied, unreservedly, “No, I don’t.”
“And you implicate no other person?”
“It ain’t what I implicate, it’s what Gaffer implicated,” was the dogged and determined answer. “I don’t pretend to know more than that his words to me was, ‘I done it.’ Those was his words.”
“I must see this out, Mortimer,” whispered Eugene, rising. “How shall we go?”
“Let us walk,” whispered Lightwood, “and give this fellow time to think of it.”
Having exchanged the question and answer, they prepared themselves for going out, and Mr. Riderhood rose. While extinguishing the candles, Lightwood, quite as a matter of course took up the glass from which that honest gentleman had drunk, and coolly tossed it under the grate, where it fell shivering into fragments.
“Now, if you will take the lead,” said Lightwood, “ Mr. Wrayburn and I will follow. You know where to go, I suppose?”
“I suppose I do, Lawyer Lightwood.”
“Take the lead, then.”