Bakche took no notice. “I want half the jewels,” he stated coolly. “You shall have a third,” answered Alan. “Then I don’t speak.” “What’s that?” cried Moon. “Let me tell you, that if you don’t, I shall arrest you as being concerned in this crime.” “You have no warrant!” said the man uneasily. “I shall arrest you without a warrant, and make good my reason afterwards.” The Indian looked uncomfortably from one to the other, and finally seeing that the Inspector was in earnest, he yielded to circumstances too strong for him. “You agree to give me a third of my family jewels?” he asked turning to Alan nervously. “Yes; I shall put it in writing if you like.” “No; I am willing to take the word of an English gentleman. That lad,” the man looked at Jotty, “also knows something of the truth; at least I think that he does.” “Don’t know nuffin,” muttered the boy truculently, for the drink was telling on his weak condition. “If I did, I wouldn’t tell when that cove,” he pointed to Sorley, “lock’d me up.” “Tell,” said the inspector sharply, “or I’ll box your ears.” “Sha’n’t, sha’n’t, sha’n’t,” babbled Jotty, “wot I knows is wuth quids, an’ quids I’ll ’ave or say nuffin.” Sorley scrambled on the floor and swept together some of the gems. “Take these; take these and save my life,” he implored, thrusting them into the boy’s hands. “You wouldn’t tell by force but these are worth money, so——” Jotty played with the gems and put them into his pocket. “If they’re wuth quids,” he said thickly, “I’ll split.” “Do you know the truth?” asked Latimer quickly, “I always thought you did.” “Perhaps you saw the murder committed,” Alan remarked, and they all stared hard at the boy. “No I didn’t,” snapped Jotty, “but I sees sumthin’, and I think es I kin spot who did it.” “Who did it then?” demanded Moon impatiently. “Sha’n’t speak till thet cove does,” muttered Jotty, pointing his chin at Bakche with an obstinate look; “don’t b’leve he knows tho’.” “Don’t I?” cried Bakche drawing himself up to his stately height, “I was at Rotherhithe when the man was murdered by his sister.” “Miss Grison!” cried Alan confounded. “Good Lord! Miss Grison killed him?” “Yes,” said Bakche, “Miss Grison killed him.” CHAPTER XXI THE TRUTH The accusation of the Indian, which seemed to be emphasized by Jotty’s silence, brought Miss Grison, still weak and broken, to her feet. “It’s a lie! a lie! a lie!” she stammered, holding on to the chair for support. “It’s the truth,” insisted Bakche deliberately. “But it’s impossible,” murmured Fuller, who was quite bewildered, “she loved her brother dearly.” “I did, I did. Bless you for saying that, Mr. Fuller,” cried Miss Grison in a tremulous tearful way. “Why should I murder my darling Baldwin?” “To get me into trouble,” quavered Sorley, who had got back into his chair and was nervously plucking at his chin.