“Mr. Ellis,” said the old gentleman, who seemed greatly agitated, “this is monstrous!”

“It is indeed, sir!” returned the younger man.  “I mean to stop it if I can.  The negro did not kill Mrs. Ochiltree.”

Mr. Delamere looked at Ellis keenly, and, as Ellis recalled afterwards, there was death in his eyes.  Unable to draw a syllable from Sandy, he had found his servant’s silence more eloquent than words.  Ellis felt a presentiment that this affair, however it might terminate, would be fatal to this fine old man, whom the city could ill spare, in spite of his age and infirmities.

“Mr. Ellis,” asked Mr. Delamere, in a voice which trembled with ill-suppressed emotion, “do you know who killed her?”

Ellis felt a surging pity for his old friend; but every step that he had taken toward the jail had confirmed and strengthened his own resolution that this contemplated crime, which he dimly felt to be far more atrocious than that of which Sandy was accused, in that it involved a whole community rather than one vicious man, should be stopped at any cost.  Deplorable enough had the negro been guilty, it became, in view of his certain innocence, an unspeakable horror, which for all time would cover the city with infamy.  “Mr. Delamere,” he replied, looking the elder man squarely in the eyes, “I think I do,—­and I am very sorry.”

“And who was it, Mr. Ellis?”

He put the question hopelessly, as though the answer were a foregone conclusion.

“I do not wish to say at present,” replied Ellis, with a remorseful pang, “unless it becomes absolutely necessary, to save the negro’s life.  Accusations are dangerous,—­as this case proves,—­unless the proof, be certain.”

For a moment it seemed as though Mr. Delamere would collapse upon the spot.  Rallying almost instantly, however, he took the arm which Ellis involuntarily offered, and said with an effort:—­

“Mr. Ellis, you are a gentleman whom it is an honor to know.  If you have time, I wish you would go with me to my house,—­I can hardly trust myself alone,—­and thence to the Chronicle office.  This thing shall be stopped, and you will help me stop it.”

It required but a few minutes to cover the half mile that lay between the prison and Mr. Delamere’s residence.

XXVII

THE VAGARIES OF THE HIGHER LAW

Mr. Delamere went immediately to his grandson’s room, which he entered alone, closing and locking the door behind him.  He had requested Ellis to wait in the carriage.

The bed had been made, and the room was apparently in perfect order.  There was a bureau in the room, through which Mr. Delamere proceeded to look thoroughly.  Finding one of the drawers locked, he tried it with a key of his own, and being unable to unlock it, took a poker from beside the stove and broke it ruthlessly open.

The contents served to confirm what he had heard concerning his grandson’s character.  Thrown together in disorderly confusion were bottles of wine and whiskey; soiled packs of cards; a dice-box with dice; a box of poker chips, several revolvers, and a number of photographs and paper-covered books at which the old gentleman merely glanced to ascertain their nature.