all the darkened land, walked up and down, up and
down, with his lower lip pinched up between his thumb and forefinger,
his brows knotted, and the elbow of one arm in the hand of the other: a
quiet, slow-moving figure, as silent as the other soundless shades that
were about it.

So that was how the cat jumped, was it? Directing suspicion--not openly,
not with any positive hint of _what_, but with deadly seriousness,
considering that last night a man had been mysteriously murdered and the
police were out for the assassin--directing suspicion against his own
father, and at such an appallingly significant time.

What a cur the fellow was! Even if his father could in any way have been
implicated in the crime, by any means, upon any pretext, what a devil's
act it was to lead the law into the right channel. But when there was
not one solitary circumstance that pointed, when it was merely to save
his own skin, merely to divert suspicion away from himself, what an act
of unspeakable atrocity! Couldn't the fellow reason? Couldn't he see
that the very thing he was doing to mislead justice was the one
circumstance which directed its sword against himself? That the simple
fact of his endeavouring to direct suspicion against one who was in no
way implicated was absolute proof that he had a purpose in wishing it to
be misdirected. And if he _had_ a purpose in doing that, the inference
was so obvious that a child might read between the lines.

Heigho! It was just another exemplification of the truth of the old
adage that "when the wine's in the wit's out." If he'd let that brandy
decanter alone, if he hadn't fuddled his reason and clogged his wretched
brain with alcohol, he must have seen what an ass thing he was doing,
and what a fool his loosened tongue was making of him.

True, as yet there did not seem any just cause for connecting him with
the murder of De Louvisan, any reason why he should have killed the man;
any single purpose he might serve, any solitary thing he might gain by
slaying him; but still---- Oh, well, you never know how deep a well is
until you have reached the bottom of it. The thing had every appearance
of being an Apache crime, and he was "in" with Margot--Margot, who
played for money and money alone; so if---- Good God! the little reptile
hadn't let her lead him into _that_ folly, had he? Hadn't let her lure
him into taking the oath and enrolling himself a member of the Apache?

If he had been mad enough