“I’ve a disagreeable mission here,” he said slowly, with his hand remaining on the latch of the door, which he had closed on entering.  “I have a warrant for your arrest, Mr. Shackford.”

“Stop a moment!” said Richard, with a glow in his eyes.  “I have something to say.”

“I advise you not to make any statement.”

“I understand my position perfectly, Mr. Taggett, and I shall disregard the advice.  After you have answered me one or two questions, I shall be quite at your service.”

“If you insist, then.”

“You were present at the examination of Thomas Blufton and William Durgin, were you not?”

“I was.”

“You recollect William Durgin’s testimony?”

“Most distinctly.”

“He stated that the stains on his clothes were from a certain barrel, the head of which had been freshly painted red.”

“I remember.”

“Mr. Taggett, the head of that barrel was painted blue!"

XXVII

Mr. Taggett, in spite of the excellent subjection under which he held his nerves, caught his breath at these words, and a transient pallor overspread his face as he followed the pointing of Richard’s finger.  If William Durgin had testified falsely on that point, if he had swerved a hair’s-breadth from the truth in that matter, then there was but one conclusion to be drawn from his perjury.  A flash of lightning is not swifter than was Mr. Taggett’s thought in grasping the situation.  In an instant he saw all his carefully articulated case fall to pieces in his hands.  Richard crossed the narrow room, and stood in front of him.

“Mr. Taggett, do you know why William Durgin lied?  He lied because it was life or death with him!  In a moment of confusion he had committed one of those simple, fatal blunders which men in his circumstances always commit.  He had obliterated the spots on his clothes with red paint, when he ought to have used blue!”

“That is a very grave supposition.”

“It is not a supposition,” cried Richard.  “The daylight is not a plainer fact.”

“You are assuming too much, Mr. Shackford.”

“I am assuming nothing.  Durgin has convicted himself; he has fallen into a trap of his own devising.  I charge him with the murder of Lemuel Shackford; I charge him with taking the chisel and the matches from my workshop, to which he had free access; and I charge him with replacing those articles in order to divert suspicion upon me.  My unfortunate relations with my cousin gave color to this suspicion.  The plan was an adroit plan, and has succeeded, it seems.”

Mr. Taggett did not reply at once, and then very coldly:  “You will pardon me for suggesting it, but it will be necessary to ascertain if this is the cask which Durgin hoped, and also if the head has not been repainted since.”