"Seven, is it? It is a longish seven miles, Mr. Heathcote. How could
I get that distance? I ain't so good at walking as I was before I was
hurt. You should have remembered that, Mr. Heathcote, when you laid
hands on me the other day."

"You're not much the worse for what I did; nor yet for the accident,
I take it. At any rate, you've not been at Gangoil wool-shed?"

"No, I've not," said the man, roughly. "What the mischief should I be
doing at your shed at night-time?"

"I said nothing about night-time."

"I'm here all day, ain't I? If you're going to palm off any story
against me, Mr. Heathcote, you'll find yourself in the wrong box.
What I does I does on the square."

Heathcote was now quite sure that Jacko had been right. He had not
doubted much before, but now he did not doubt at all but that the man
with whom he was speaking was the wretch who was endeavoring to ruin
him. And he felt certain, also, that Jacko was true to him. He knew,
too, that he had plainly declared his suspicion to the man himself.
But he had resolved upon doing this. He could in no way assist
himself in circumventing the man's villainy by keeping his suspense
to himself. The man might be frightened, and in spite of all that had
passed between him and Medlicot, he still thought it possible that he
might induce the sugar grower to co-operate with him in driving Nokes
from the neighborhood. He had spent the night in thinking over it
all, and this was the resolution to which he had come.