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“Certainly, sir,” Captain Murray assented. “Shall I fetch him?”

“No, remain where you are,” I said; “I will go for him myself.”

I understood that Mr. Urquhart had retired to his own quarters or to my brother’s, and that Mr. Mackenzie had been left in the entresol alone. But as I descended the stairs quietly I heard within that room a voice which at first persuaded me he had company, and next that, left to himself, he had broken down and given way to the most childish wailing. The voice was so unlike his, or any grown man’s, that it arrested me on the lowermost stair against my will. It resembled rather the sobbing of an infant mingled with short strangled cries of contrition and despair.

“What shall I do? What shall I do? I didn’t mean it–I meant to do good! What shall I do?”

So much I heard (as I say) against my will, before my astonishment gave room to a sense of shame at playing, even for a moment, the eavesdropper upon the lad I was to judge. I stepped quickly to the door, and with a warning rattle (to give him time to recover himself) turned the handle and entered.

He was alone, lying back in an easy chair–not writhing there in anguish of mind, as I had fully expected, but sunk rather in a state of dull and hopeless apathy. To reconcile his attitude with the sounds I had just heard was merely impossible; and it bewildered me worse than any in the long chain of bewildering incidents. For five seconds or so he appeared not to see me; but when he grew aware his look changed suddenly to one of utter terror, and his eyes, shifting from me, shot a glance about the room as if he expected some new accusation to dart at him from the corners. His indignation and passionate defiance were gone: his eyes seemed to ask me, “How much do you know?” before he dropped them and stood before me, sullenly submissive.

“I want you upstairs,” said I: “not to hear your defence on this charge, for Mr. Urquhart has not yet specified it. But there is another matter.”

“Another?” he echoed dully, and, I observed, without surprise.

I led the way back to the room where Captain Murray waited. “Can you tell me anything about this?” I asked, pointing to the sovereign on the writing-table.

He shook his head, clearly puzzled, but anticipating mischief.

“The coin is marked, you see. I have reason to know that it was marked by its owner in order to detect a thief. Captain Murray found it just now among your stakes.”

Somehow–for I liked the lad–I had not the heart to watch his face as I delivered this. I kept my eyes upon the coin, and waited, expecting an explosion–a furious denial, or at least a cry that he was the victim of a conspiracy. None came. I heard him breathing hard. After a long and very dreadful pause some words broke from him, so lowly uttered that my ears only just caught them.

“This too? O my God!”

I seated myself, the lad before me, and Captain Murray erect and rigid at the end of the table. “Listen, my lad,” said I. “This wears an ugly look, but that a stolen coin has been found in your possession does not prove that you’ve stolen it.”

“I did not. Sir, I swear to you on my honour, and before Heaven, that I did not.”

“Very well,” said I: “Captain Murray asserts that he found this among the moneys you had been staking at cards. Do you question that assertion?”

He answered almost without pondering. “No, sir. Captain Murray is a gentleman, and incapable of falsehood. If he says so, it was so.”

“Very well again. Now, can you explain how this coin came into your possession?”

At this he seemed to hesitate; but answered at length, “No, I cannot explain.”

“Have you any idea? Or can you form any guess?”