“Now, Mr. Moor said that when he had done watering his horse, he rode on up the turnpike. The horse wasn’t drinking when I saw it. I ran on up the road, but I stopped before I got to the crest of the hill, for my breath gave out. I walked the rest of the way, which was about half a mile, to the homestead. Now, I take it, a man on horseback could have passed me, even if I’d run all the way. But Mr. Moor didn’t pass me, and there was no sign of him when I turned into the lane; so he did not ride on up the pike as he said he did. Neither did he turn back home, for no man would turn back from a pleasure ride after he had gone only three quarters of a mile. Will, how many roads are there between Stonybrook bridge and father’s house?” “Only one.” “And that is—” “Penrose’s road.” “Will,” said Tom, leaning forward, looking into the other’s eyes and speaking very slowly, “when I left Edmund Moor he rode up Penrose’s road.” “Tom! Tom!” cried Will Gaines, springing to his feet, “this is incredible!” “Incredible! Doesn’t it sound reasonable?” “Yes, yes; only too reasonable!” Then he began walking up and down. Suddenly he stopped in front of Tom. “Who would have thought,” said he, “that such a quiet, dull-seeming fellow as you, Tom Granger, would have thought out all this for yourself!” “I don’t see anything wonderful in my thinking the matter out, considering that my own life and the happiness of all belonging to me are concerned in my thinking. But, I haven’t done yet. According to my certain knowledge, Mr. Moor did not ride up the turnpike; therefore he must have turned up Penrose’s road, for there was no other. Now, if I’d killed Isaac Naylor, he’d found him lying there, even if he’d heard no sound to make him suspect anything. If he’d found Isaac Naylor alive and left him alive, one word from him would have been enough to have cleared me. He said no word, therefore he wished the blame to rest upon me; he wished the blame to rest upon me, therefore he had something that he wished to hide. Without he was concerned in the affair he would want to hide nothing. If he _was_ concerned in it, he was concerned in it alone, for there was no one but him near enough to hear Isaac call for help; if there had been they would have come. Yesterday afternoon, when I came to Eastcaster in the stage, I saw Mr. Moor and Isaac Naylor looking out of Moor’s office window; if nothing had happened since, I don’t know that I would have thought anything of it, but, in looking back now, I tell you that there was something wrong between them; there was a look about them—the way in which they were standing, the expression of their faces, that makes me feel that I am right in what I say. When I ran out into the road after leaving Isaac Naylor, Mr. Moor’s face was as white as wax, now—” here Tom paused abruptly and began walking restlessly up and down the cell. After a while he stopped and stood in the middle of the room. He looked out of the window and