“That is impossible,” cried the artist, much agitated. “Think of what you are saying, Random. What a terrible thing it would be for Lucy if the Professor were guilty in such a way as you suggest!”
“Really, I fail to see that. Miss Kendal is no relation to Braddock save by marriage. His iniquities have nothing to do with her, or with you.”
“But it's impossible, I tell you, Random. Throughout the whole of this case Braddock has acted in a perfectly innocent way.”
“That's just it,” said Sir Frank caustically; “he has acted. In spite of his pretended grief for the loss of the emeralds, I should not be surprised to learn from that,” he nodded towards the confession on the table, “that he was in possession of the missing gem. Cockatoo had no reason to steal the emeralds himself, setting aside the fact that he probably would not know their value, being but a semi-civilized savage. He acted under orders from his master, and although Cockatoo strangled Bolton, the Professor is really the author and the gainer and the moving spirit.”
“You would make Braddock an accessory before the fact.”
“Yes, and Mrs. Jasher an accessory after the fact. Cockatoo is the link, as the actual criminal, who joins the two in a guilty partnership. No wonder Braddock intended to make that woman his wife even though he did not love her, for she knew a jolly sight too much for his peace of mind.”
“This is horrible,” murmured Hope desperately; “but it is mere theory. We cannot be sure until we read the confession.”
“We'll be sure soon, then, for here comes the coffee.”
This last remark Random made when a timid knock came to the door, and a moment later the landlady entered with a tray bearing cups, saucers, and a jug of steaming coffee. She was a meek, reticent woman who entered and departed in dismal silence, and in a few moments the