“Mr. Taggett does.”

“And you?”

“I am speaking of Mr. Taggett.”

“Well, go on, speak of him,” said Richard desperately.  “What else has he discovered?”

Mr. Perkins wheeled his chair round until he faced the young man.

“He has discovered in your workshop a chisel with a peculiar break in the edge,—­a deep notch in the middle of the bevel.  With that chisel Lemuel Shackford was killed.”

Richard gave a perceptible start, and put his hand to his head, as if a sudden confused memory had set the temples throbbing.

“A full box of safety matches,” continued Mr. Perkins, in a cold, measured voice, as though he were demonstrating a mathematical problem, “contains one hundred matches.  Mr. Taggett has discovered a box that contains only ninety-nine.  The missing match was used that night in Welch’s Court.”

Richard stared at him blankly.  “What can I say?” he gasped.

“Say nothing to me,” returned Lawyer Perkins, hastily thrusting a handful of loose papers into the open throat of the green bag, which he garroted an instant afterwards with a thick black cord.  Then he rose flurriedly from the chair.  “I shall have to leave you,” he said; “I’ve an appointment at the surrogate’s.”

And Lawyer Perkins passed stiffly from the apartment.

Richard lingered a moment alone in the room with his chin resting on his breast.

XXVI

There was a fire in Richard’s temples as he reeled out of Lawyer Perkins’s office.  It was now twelve o’clock, and the streets were thronged with the motley population disgorged by the various mills and workshops.  Richard felt that every eye was upon him; he was conscious of something wild in his aspect that must needs attract the attention of the passers-by.  At each step he half expected the leveling of some accusing finger.  The pitiless sunshine seemed to single him out and stream upon him like a calcium light.  It was intolerable.  He must get away from this jostling crowd, this babel of voices.  What should he do, where should he go?  To return to the yard and face the workmen was not to be thought of; if he went to his lodgings he would be called to dinner, and have to listen to the inane prattle of the school-master.  That would be even more intolerable than this garish daylight, and these careless squads of men and women who paused in the midst of their laugh to turn and stare.  Was there no spot in Stillwater where a broken man could hide himself long enough to collect his senses?

With his hands thrust convulsively into the pockets of his sack-coat, Richard turned down a narrow passage-way fringing the rear of some warehouses.  As he hurried along aimlessly his fingers encountered something in one of his pockets.  It was the key of a new lock which had been put on the scullery door of the house in Welch’s Court.  Richard’s heart gave a quick throb.  There at least was a temporary refuge; he would go there and wait until it was time for him to surrender himself to the officers.