"And what may that be?" "I'll tell you if you will give me time to speak. I told you last night who I am--I am Mrs. Everett, the mother of a man who has been falsely accused of murder." "Falsely!" echoed Vincent, an incredulous expression playing round his lips. "Yes, falsely. Don't interrupt me, please. Your wife witnessed that murder." "That's true enough, and it blackened her life, poor girl." "I'm coming to that part in a minute. Your wife witnessed the murder. She was very young at the time. It was well known that the murdered man wanted to make her his wife. It was supposed, quite falsely, but it was the universal supposition, that my son was also one of her lovers. This latter was not the case. It is just possible, however, that she had another lover--she was a very pretty girl, the sort of girl who would attract men in a station above her own." Vincent's face grew black as night. "I have my reason," continued Mrs. Everett, "for supposing it possible that your wife had another lover. There is, at least, not the slightest doubt that the man who killed Mr. Frere did so in a fit of jealousy." "P'raps so," said Vincent. "It may be so. I loved Het then--I longed to make her my wife then. I'm in her own station--it's best for girls like Het to marry in their own station. She told me that the man who was murdered wanted to make her his wife, but she never loved him, that I will say." "She may have loved the murderer." "The man who is suffering penal servitude?" cried Vincent. "Your son, ma'am? Then ef you think so he'd better stay where he is--he'd best stay where 'e is." "I am not talking of my son, but of the real murderer," said Mrs. Everett slowly. Vincent stared at her. He thought she was slightly off her head. "I was in court when your son was tried," he said, at last. "'Twas a plain case. He killed his man--it was brought in manslaughter, worn't it? And he didn't swing for it. I don't know what you mean, ma'am, an' I'd like to be away now at my work." "I have something more to say, and then I'll go. I met your wife about a year ago. We met on Salisbury Plain." "Ay, she's fond o' the Plain, Hetty is." "I told her then what I now tell you. She fell on her knees in terror--she clasped my dress, and asked me how I had found out. Then she recovered herself, tried to eat her own words, and left me. Since then she has avoided me. It was the sight of me last night that made your wife turn faint. I repeat that she carries a secret. If that secret were known it might clear my son. I want to find it out. If you will help me and if we succeed, I'll give you a thousand pounds." "'Taint to be done, ma'am," said Vincent. "Het is nervous, and a bit given to the hysterics, but she knows no more 'bout that murder than all the rest of the world knows; and what's more, I wouldn't take no money to probe at my wife's heart. Good-mornin', ma'am, I must be attending to my turnips."