"I wiped a few out on Wednesday morning before we brought back the plants. Somebody--Drew, I suppose--had stacked them in the wrong place. In putting them right, I began to wipe them. I didn't do them all; I was called away." "'Twas me stacked 'em," said Jenkins. "Well--them stands are what had held the poison; I found a'most one-half of 'em filled with it." Monk cast a rapid glance around. "What was the poison?" he asked. Jenkins grunted, but gave no other reply. The fact was, he had been so abused by the Squire for having put away the trace of the "stuff," that it was a sore subject. "Did you come on here, Monk, before you started for Evesham this morning?" questioned the Squire. "I didn't come near the gardens, sir. I had told Jenkins last night to be on early," replied Monk, bending over a blackened row of plants while he spoke. "I went the back way to the stables through the lane, had harnessed the horse to the cart, and was away before five." We quitted the greenhouse. The pater went out with Mr. Duffham, Tod and I followed. I, looking quietly on, had been struck with the contrast of manner between old Duff and Monk--he peering at Monk with his searching gaze, never once taking it off him; and Monk meeting nobody's eyes, but shifting his own anywhere rather than meet them. "About this queer arsenic tale Monk tells?" began the Squire. "Is there anything in it? Will it hold water?" "Moonshine!" said old Duff, with emphasis. The tone was curious, and we all looked at him. He had got his lips drawn in, and the top of his cane pressing them. "Where did you take Monk from, Squire? Get a good character with him?" "Jenkins brought him here. As to character, he had never been in any situation before. Why? Do you suspect him?" "Um-m-m!" said the doctor, prolonging the sound as though in doubt. "If I do suspect him, he has caused me to. I never saw such a shifty manner in all my life. Why, he never once looked at any of us! His eyes are false, and his tones are false!" "His tones? Do you mean his words?" "I mean the tone his words are spoken in. To an apt ear, the sound of a man's voice, or woman's either, can be read off like a book; a man's voice is honest or dishonest according to his nature; and you can't make a mistake about it. Monk's has a false ring in it, if ever I heard one. Now, master Johnny, what are you looking so eager about?" "I think Monk's voice false, too, Mr. Duffham; I have thought himself false all along. Tod knows I have." "I know that you are just a muff, Johnny, going in for prejudices against people unreasonably," said Tod, putting me down as usual. Old Duff pushed my straw hat up, and passed his fingers over the top of my forehead. "Johnny, my boy," he said, "you have a strong and good indication here for reading the world. _Trust to it._" "I couldn't trust Monk. I never have trusted him. That was one reason why I suspected him of stealing the things the magpie took."