“I understand what your doubt implies.  It is your duty to assure yourself of these facts, and nothing can be easier.  The person who packed the meat—­it was probably a provision dealer named Stubbs—­will of course be able to recognize his own work.  The other question you can settle with a scratch of your penknife.  You see.  There has been only one thin coat of paint laid on,—­the grain of the wood is nearly distinguishable through it.  The head is evidently new; but the cask itself is an old one.  It has stood here these ten years.”

Mr. Taggett bent a penetrating look on Richard.  “Why did you refuse to answer the subpoena, Mr. Shackford?”

“But I haven’t refused.  I was on my way to Justice Beemis’s office when you knocked.  Perhaps I am a trifle late,” added Richard, catching Mr. Taggett’s distrustful glance.

“The summons said two o’clock,” remarked Mr. Taggett, pressing the spring of his watch.  “It is now after three.”

“After three!”

“How could you neglect it,—­with evidence of such presumable importance in your hands?”

“It was only a moment ago that I discovered this.  I had come here from Mr. Perkins’s office.  Mr. Perkins had informed me of the horrible charge which was to be laid at my door.  The intelligence fell upon me like a thunder-clap.  I think it unsettled my reason for a while.  I was unable to put two ideas together.  At first he didn’t believe I had killed my cousin, and presently he seemed to believe it.  When I got out in the street the sidewalk lurched under my feet like the deck of a ship; everything swam before me.  I don’t know how I managed to reach this house, and I don’t know how long I had been sitting in a room up-stairs when the recollection of the subpoena occurred to me.  I was standing here dazed with despair; I saw that I was somehow caught in the toils, and that it was going to be impossible to prove my innocence.  If another man had been in my position, I should have believed him guilty.  I stood looking at the cask in the corner there, scarcely conscious of it; then I noticed the blue paint on the head, and then William Durgin’s testimony flashed across my mind.  Where is he?” cried Richard, turning swiftly.  “That man should be arrested!”

“I am afraid he is gone,” said Mr. Taggett, biting his lip.

“Do you mean he has fled?”

“If you are correct—­he has fled.  He failed to answer the summons to-day, and the constable sent to look him up has been unable to find him.  Durgin was in the bar-room of the tavern at eight o’clock last night; he has not been seen since.”

“He was not in the yard this morning.  You have let him slip through your fingers.”

“So it appears, for the moment.”

“You still doubt me, Mr. Taggett?”

“I don’t let persons slip through my fingers.”

Richard curbed an impatient rejoinder, and said quietly, “William Durgin had an accomplice.”