XII
B
y
that evening my brother was in his bed again with a high temperature, moaning and crying out over and over again the things he had told the Inspector of Police in his formal evidence.
Mother and father were in their sitting-room with Lawyer Foster, who had been hurriedly summoned to give his advice. Tom was not there. Earlier in the day he had been to the police station with father to fetch us back, but on hearing the general drift of the evidence, he had said that he washed his hands of the whole affair. His new position of under-manager at the foundry was too important a one to risk by his becoming involved at all with this unsavoury thing. So this night he had gone back to the works to inspect a new set of drawings for extensions to the rolling-mills, for the foundry was now
