“My boy!” he whispered, as he gripped my hand affectionately. “This is
terrible! To think that you--that you should be wanted for murder!”
“It is terrible,” I replied, leading the way along the dark, deserted
road towards Grove Lane. I had dreaded lest he should express anger at
my misfortune. He had always been forgiving, and seldom angry with me
at the various peccadilloes and follies of youth. And now most of all,
how welcome was his attitude.
My present position was, that I must sooner or later bring dishonor on
my family, whose good name and esteem my father so carefully guarded.
The Hipwells held a long and honorable record in Northamptonshire ever
since Sir Thomas Hipwell, the treasurer to Henry VIII, built Hipwell,
where the family, several members of which were from time to time
employed in the service of their sovereign, always had lived.
The old governor was a man of few words. He always spoke bluntly and
to the point, in Parliament and out of it.
“You swear that it was an accident?” he asked in a hard, unusual
voice, which betrayed emotion. It was so dark that, beyond the zone of
light from the station entrance, I was unable to see his face.
“I swear it was,” I replied, and then I related exactly what had
occurred on the night of the tragedy, just as I have already
chronicled it in these pages.
He heard me without comment.
“And what do you intend doing now?” he asked, when I had concluded my
story.
“I don’t know,” was my reply.
“Neither do I,” he said in that same strained voice. “You are in a
very precarious position, my boy. And how to help you out of it I am
at my wits’ ends to suggest.”
“I fear arrest because of our honor,” I answered. “Because of that, I
fled.”
“An injudicious course--very injudicious. You have, unfortunately,
prejudiced yourself,” he declared.
“The public are, of course, certain that murder was committed,
especially in face of the lies that woman has told,” I admitted.
“I have read all about it in the papers, but I never dreamed that it
was for you, my boy, the police were so actively searching,” my father
said brokenly.
“I must still remain hidden,” I remarked.
“For how long? You must, sooner or later, be identified and arrested.
In to-night’s paper I see it stated that the police have a clue.
But--of course--they seem to find a fresh clue every day.”
I told him of the suggestions of my handsome fellow lodger, at which
he expressed increased apprehension.
“You never know what such a girl may do,” he said. “Perhaps she’ll
tell the police her suspicions, just in order to come into the
limelight. Most girls of her type love a little publicity. Have you
seen to-night’s paper?”