Well, he didn't come to
me, and there's no one else he could go to. They've been looking for
him all over the shop, and they can't find him; he can't be hiding
or he'd have let me know; there's only one explanation--he's been
murdered--but not for the gold--oh, dear no--for nobody knew he had
it. Who wanted him out of the way?--his wife. Would she stick at
anything?--I'm damned if she would. So it's her work. The only
question is did she do it personally or by deputy. I say deputy,
'cause she'd be too squeamish to do it herself. Who would she select
as deputy?--Vandeloup! Why?--'cause he'd like to marry her for her
money. Yes, I'm sure it's him. Things look black against him: he
stayed in town all night, a thing he never did before--leaves the
supper at a quarter to twelve, so as to avoid suspicion; waits till
Villiers comes out at two in the morning and kills him. Aha! my
handsome jackadandy,' cried Slivers, viciously, suddenly stopping
and shaking his stick at an imaginary Vandeloup; 'I've got you under
my thumb, and I'll crush the life out of you--and of her also, if I
can;' and with this amiable resolution Slivers resumed his way.
Slivers' argument was plausible, but there were plenty of flaws in
it, which, however, he did not stop to consider, so carried away was
he by his anger against Madame Midas. He stumped along doggedly,
revolving the whole affair in his mind, and by the time he arrived
at the Wattle Tree Hotel he had firmly persuaded himself that
Villiers was dead, and that Vandeloup had committed the crime at the
instigation of Mrs Villiers.
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