"Now, Bill, who is the real murderer?"

Bill stopped his walk in astonishment.

"The real murderer!" he repeated; "how ever should oi know, Maister
Ned?"

"I know that you know, Bill. It was you who wrote that letter to
Mr. Wakefield saying that the man who did it would be at the trial,
and that if I were found guilty he would give himself up. It's no
use your denying it, for I knew your handwriting at once."

Bill was silent for some time, It had never occurred to him that
this letter would be brought home to him.

"Come, Bill, you must tell me," Ned said. "Do not be afraid.
I promise you that I will not use it against him. Mind, if I can
bring it home to him in any other way I shall do so; but I promise
you that no word shall ever pass my lips about the letter. I want
to know who is the man of whose crime the world believes me guilty.
The secret shall, as far as he is concerned, be just as much a
secret as it was before."

"But oi dunno who is the man, Maister Ned. If oi did oi would ha'
gone into the court and said so, even though oi had been sure they
would ha' killed me for peaching when oi came back. Oi dunno no
more than a child."

"Then you only wrote that letter to throw them on to a false scent,
Bill? Who put you up to that, for I am sure it would never have