And forthwith he plunged into the middle of the exciting history, and told it with as much detail as he could remember. It was necessary to make things perfectly clear to his listeners, as he relied upon their judgment to help him out of the cul-de-sac into which the whole affair was now wedged. At the conclusion of the story Neil, who had been more or less excited throughout, although he had refrained from interruption, jumped up and began to pace the room. "There isn't the slightest doubt," he said, "that Job Lovell killed my father to get possession of that pocket-book. "I thought you would say that," said Mr. Cass, drily; "and what do you say, Heron?" "It seems probable that Job did kill the man," said Heron, with a grave nod. "Marshall, you say, Mr. Cass, was in this house at the time: your sister had got back to her bedroom. Now, only these two knew that the bill was in the pocket-book or had any interest in getting it." "You forget Job; he knew all." "Job must be the murderer!" exclaimed Neil, with flashing eyes, "and my mother is innocent. Now she must be released." "I will see to that," said Mr. Cass, composedly. "But you must let me manage the matter in my own way. I do not wish the rascalities of my precious brother-in-law made public. If Job can be proved guilty, he must be punished. In any case, as soon as we are certain of his guilt, Mrs. Jenner must be released." Mr. Cass paused, then added abruptly: "I hold you both to your promise." "If I had my way," said Neil, "I would go at once to Job, and force the whole truth out of him. As it is, I shall not move in the matter until you give me permission. My mother told me to leave things as they were--you have asked me to do the same. I owe you too much, Mr. Cass, to break my promise." Mr. Cass, much affected by this speech, shook the young man warmly by the hand; then turned an inquiring eye upon Geoffrey, who answered the look. "I will do nothing, Mr. Cass, since it is your pleasure to thresh the matter out yourself. But I only warn you that Job may kill himself." "How do you mean kill himself--on account of this murder?" "Maybe--I don't know. But he is dying slowly, and in much pain. His fellow-gypsies will have nothing to do with him--he is too much of an outcast even for the Romany! I heard from one of my servants that Job, in a drunken humour, had threatened to put an end to himself by burning down the Turnpike House. In order to do this, I believe he has lately bought a large quantity of petroleum. "Ha!" exclaimed Mr. Cass, suddenly, "I know. The house smelt terribly of petroleum; I daresay he has soaked the whole place in it, that it may burn the more quickly. What is to be done? The man seems to be in earnest." "You must get his confession as to how he committed the crime." "That would be the best thing, no doubt," assented Mr. Cass, "but to-morrow I want to go up and see Mrs. Jenner. She seems to be very ill, and wishes to see me at once."