Was this too
the secret which he let out in his cups to Randall Holmes and
which drove the young man from his society? And Betty? Boyce was a
devil. She wished he were dead. And her words: "You have behaved
worse to others. I don't wonder at your shrinking from showing
your face here." How much did Betty know? There was the lost week
--in Carlisle?--in poor Althea's life. And then there were Boyce's
half confessions, the glimpses he had afforded me into the
tormented soul. To me he had condemned himself out of his own
mouth.
I repeat that, sitting there paralysed by the sudden shock of it,
I knew--not that the man was speaking the literal truth--God
forbid!--but that Boyce was, in some degree, responsible for
Althea's death.
"Calling me names won't alter the facts, Sir Anthony," said
Gedge, with a touch of insolence. "I was there at the time. I saw
it."
"If that's true," Sir Anthony retorted, "you're an accessory after
the fact, and in greater danger of being hanged than ever." He
turned to me in his abrupt way. "Now that we've heard this
blackguard, shall we hand him over to the police?"
Being directly addressed, I recovered my nerve.
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