"I am half dead with the cramp," said he, rubbing his stout leg, "just like old times when I hid in a cupboard at Mother Meddlers, to hear Black Bill give himself away over a burglary. Ay, and I nearly sneezed that time, which would have cost me my life.
I have been safe enough in that summer-house—but the cramp—owch!"
"It seems I have been mistaken," was all Giles could say.
"So have I, so was Mrs. Benker.
We are all in the same box.
The man is evidently very like his scamp of a brother."
"No doubt, Morley.
But he isn't the brother himself."
"More's the pity, for Franklin's sake as well as our own.
He seems to hate his brother fairly and would be willing to give him up to the law—if he's done anything."
"Well," said Ware, beginning to walk, "this Walter Franklin—to give him his real name—has committed murder.
I am more convinced than ever that he is the guilty person.
But I don't see what he has to do with Anne.
Her father is certainly dead—died at Florence.
Ha!
Morley. Franklin comes from Florence.
He may know—he may have heard."
Morley nodded.
"You're quite right, Ware.
I'll ask him about the matter.
Humph!" The ex-detective stopped for a moment. "This involuntary confession clears George Franklin."
"Yes.
He is innocent enough."
"Well, but he inherited the money," said Morley. "It's queer that his brother, according to you, should have killed the girl who kept the fortune from him."
"It is strange.
But it might be that Walter Franklin intended to play the part of his brother and get the money, counting on the resemblance between them."
"That's true enough.
Yet if George were in Italy and within hail, so to speak, I don't see how that would have done.
Why not come to The Elms with me and speak to Franklin yourself?
He will be waiting for me there."
"No," answered Ware after some thought, "he evidently intends to trust you, and if I come he may hold his tongue.
You draw him out, Morley, and then you can tell me.
Mrs. Benker——"
"I'll say nothing about her.
I am not supposed to know that she is a visitor to Rickwell.
He'll suspect our game if I chatter about her, Ware.
We must be cautious.
This is a difficult skein to unravel."
"It is that," assented Giles dolefully, "and we're no further on with it than we were before."
"Nonsense, man.
We have found out Wilson's real name."
"Well, that is something certainly, and his brother may be able to put us on his track.
If he asks about Mrs. Benker, say that she is a friend of my housekeeper.
You can say you heard it from your wife."
"I'll say no more than is necessary," replied Morley cunningly. "I learned in my detective days to keep a shut mouth.
Well, I'll be off and see what I can get out of him."
When Morley departed at his fast little trot—he got over the ground quickly for so small a man—Giles wandered about the Priory park.
He thought that he might meet with the daughter, and see what kind of a person she was.
If weak in the head, as Mrs. Parry declared her to be, she might chatter about her Uncle Walter.
Giles wished to find out all he could about that scamp.