They stepped on to the platform. The train was not in yet; was scarcely due: one of the porters remarked that "that there mid-day train didn't keep her time as well as some on 'em did." Richards familiarly passed his arm within Benjamin Carr's, and drew him beyond the platform. They turned sideways and halted before a dwarf wall, looking over it at the town, which lay beneath. "You say you are not in a mood for joking, Ben: neither am I; and what I said to you I said with a meaning," began Richards in a low tone. "It has come to my knowledge--and you needn't ask me how or when or where, for I shan't tell you--that old Marmaduke's money, so far as you Eckford Carrs go, _is_ imperilled. If the thing goes on to trial, you'll lose it: but I should think it won't go on to trial, for you'd never let it when you come to know what I know. The other side has got hold of a piece of evidence that would swamp you." Benjamin Carr's great dark eyes turned themselves fiercely upon his companion: he saw that he was, in truth, not jesting. "It's not the record of the marriage, is it?" he asked, after a pause. "Something like it." Not a word was spoken for a couple of minutes. A little tinkling bell was heard in the station. Benjamin Carr broke the silence. "Real, or forged?" "Ah, I don't know. Real, I suppose. The man's dead you see, that young clergyman-fellow who came down, so he'd be hardly likely to get it up. I don't see how it could be done, either, in the present case. It's easier to suppress evidence of a marriage than it is to invent it. Still it _may_ be on the cross." "Can't you speak plain English, Richards." "I hardly dare. But I suppose you could be silent, if I were to." "I suppose I could. I have had secrets to carry in my lifetime weightier than this, whatever it may be." Benjamin Carr lifted his hat, and wiped his brow with his handkerchief, as if the secrets were there and felt heavy still. Richards looked at him. "You may speak out, Richards. You can't believe," he added, his tone changed to one of passionate pain, "that it is not safe with me." "It must be kept safe for your own sake, for your family's sake. If any evidence _has_ turned up, there's no cause to let the world know it before you are compelled. It would be damaging your cause irreparably." Ben Carr nodded assent. "What is it?" he asked. "Well, I think they have found out where the marriage was solemnized. I _think_ so, mind; I am not positive. That is, I am not positive of the fact; only that they think it so." "How did you hear it?" "Now, Ben, you'll not get me to let out that. I've said so. Perhaps I dreamt it; perhaps a little bird told me: never mind. I mean to go over to your place to see Valentine to-night, and drop him a hint of the state of affairs. Shall you be at home?" "I didn't mean to be at home for some days to come; but I'll meet you there. Take care of one thing: that you say nothing to the squire."