Then, when he had come to man's estate, Walter had still been his
confidential friend and adviser. In Walter's hand he had been
accustomed to leave everything during his absences on his hunting
and exploring trips; and at what time during this long and kindly
association of good-fellowship had such black hate and poison of
envy bred in Walter's heart?
"Walter!" he said aloud once more, and he uttered the name as though
it were a cry of anguish.
Yet, too, even in his utter bewilderment and surprise, it seemed
strange to him that he had never once suspected, never dreamed,
never once had the shadow of a suspicion.
Little things, trifling things, a word, an accent, a phrase that
had passed at the time for a lest, a thousand such memories came
back to him now with a new and terrible significance.
For, after all, Walter was in the direct line. Only just a few
lives stood between him and a great inheritance, a great position.
Perhaps long brooding on what might so easily be had made him mad.
Dunn remembered now, too, that it was Walter who had discovered that
first murderous attempt which had first put them on their guard, but
perhaps he had discovered it only because he knew of it, and when it
failed, saw his safest plan was to be foremost in tracking it out.
And it was Walter who had last seen poor Charley Wright alone, and
far from Bittermeads.
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