His
chick and mouth be wry wi' scar o' burns or vitterel, an' no wiskers, bless
you; but my Tom ee toll him he knowed him for Master Doodley. I ant seed
him; but he sade ad shute Tom soon is look at 'im, an' denide it, wi'
mouthful o' curses and oaf. Tom baint right shure; if I seed un wons i'd no
for sartin; but 'appen,'twil best be let be.' This was all.
Old Hawkes stood his ground, relying on the profound cunning with which
their actual proceedings had been concealed, even from the suspicions of
the two inmates of the house, and on the mystery that habitually shrouded
Bartram-Haugh and all its belongings from the eyes of the outer world.
Strangely enough, he fancied that I had made my escape long before the room
was entered; and, even if he were arrested, there was no evidence, he was
certain, to connect _him_ with the murder, all knowledge of which he would
stoutly deny.
There was an inquest on the body of my uncle, and Dr. Jolks was the chief
witness. They found that his death was caused by 'an excessive dose of
laudanum, accidentally administered by himself.'
It was not until nearly a year after the dreadful occurrences at Bartram
that Dickon Hawkes was arrested on a very awful charge, and placed in gaol.
Pages:
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768