“Remember,” Mr. Sherwin continued, “I do not ask you to criminate yourselves, but if a full confession is made, I will lay the matter before the governor-general, and perhaps he may be disposed to grant you some mercy.  I fancy that a frank confession would be the most desirable course for both of you to pursue,” the commissioner said, in a careless tone, as though he did not care whether we complied with his advice or not.

“All the confession that we can make is to tell the truth,” cried Fred, who always grew cooler the more imminent the danger; “we will simply state the facts, and then you can judge of our guilt.”

The commissioner made a sign for Fred to go on, although I could see by his face that he was anticipating a yarn, and was prepared to believe just as much of it as he pleased.

Fred told the circumstances of the affair just as they occurred, and without equivocation.  Mr. Sherwin listened without interruption, and also, I will add, without belief.

“Of course I can see the old man?” the commissioner asked, in a half-sneering manner, as though prepared for us to deny him the right.

“Certainly,” answered Fred; and he led the way to the little private room where Mr. Critchet was lying, and, to our joy, still sleeping, which argued well for his ultimate recovery.

“Here is the man whom you accuse us of murdering,” Fred whispered; “see what pains we have taken to hasten his end.”  And he pointed to the numerous bandages with which we had bound up his wounds.

“I was prepared to find the body of Mr. Critchet here, but not alive,” the commissioner said.  “I was told that he was dead, and that I could find unmistakable signs of those who committed the murder, here.”

“Perhaps you will give us the name of your informant.  We desire to be confronted with the man who dares charge us with assassination!”

Fred spoke with firmness, and with a degree of hauteur that was not habitual.

Mr. Sherwin hesitated for a moment, and then stepped out of the little room and beckoned to a police officer.

The latter did not display that degree of alacrity that one would have suspected in obeying the summons, and upon looking at the man, I found that he had accompanied us on our tax-gathering tours, and that he was aware of the estimation in which Mr. Brown held us, and was fearful that he should incur the inspector’s displeasure if he manifested too great an eagerness in our affairs.

“Michael,” said the commissioner, “bring in Follet.”

We started at the words, and then we saw a dark smile upon the face of the cold-hearted commissioner, that told how keenly he enjoyed our misery.

“If you please, sir,” said Michael, cap in hand, and a beseeching glance upon his face, “I think that Follet is lying, for I’ve known him for six months past, and never saw or heard much about his habits that is favorable.”