"
Fosdick and Stephens glanced at each other and then at Viner, who sat a
little in Mr. Pawle's rear.
"Partner of yours?" asked Fosdick.
"Not at all! This gentleman," replied Mr. Pawle, "is Mr. Viner. It was he
who found Ashton's dead body. They were neighbours."
"Well, you found the body of a very worthy man, sir," remarked Fosdick
gravely. "And we'd like to do something toward finding the man who killed
him. For we don't think it was this young fellow who's charged with it,
nor that robbery was the motive. We think John Ashton was--removed. Put
out of the way!"
"Why, now?" asked Mr. Pawle.
"I'll tell you," replied Fosdick. "My friend Stephens, here, is a man of
few words; he credits me with more talkativeness than he'll lay claim
to. So I'm to tell the tale. There mayn't be much in it, and there may be
a lot. We think there's a big lot! But this is what it comes to: Ashton
was a close man, a reserved man. However, one night, when the three of us
were having a quiet cigar in a corner of the smoking saloon in the
_Maraquibo_, he opened out to us a bit. We'd been talking about getting
over to England--we'd all three emigrated, you'll understand, when we
were very young--and the talk ran on what we'd do.
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