a better way. He knew quite certainly now that he would never own up⁠—not even if Margery was to die. He would never say a word to clear John’s character. He had a fairly clear idea now of what would happen. There would (he hoped) be no further proceedings; the evidence was too thin. All that John would suffer would be this local gossip and petty suspicion; and he would have to live that down. John would not mind⁠—a good fellow, John. But if he did mind, if he ever showed signs of expecting to be cleared, if he ever suggested a confession or any rubbish of that sort, the answer would be simple: “Really, my dear John, the evidence is so strong against you that I don’t really think I should be believed now if I said I did it. And you must remember, John, you’ve anyhow sworn all sorts of things on your oath that you’d have to explain away⁠—the Civil Service wouldn’t like that⁠—perjury, you know. Of course, if you want me, John⁠—but I really think it would be better from your point of view⁠—I only want to do the best for