Every scrap of information connected with the tragedy was eagerly sought after, and retailed afterwards to the wondering village folk.
Exaggerated stories got abroad, and numberless theories were propounded. Somebody who remembered the thrashing Peace received at the hands of the murdered man kindly hinted that he might have committed the crime from motives of revenge.
Brickett was most indignant at this suggestion, which he declared to be both false and scandalous.
It was not possible for Peace to be accused of the murder, seeing that he was in gaol doing his four years at the time it was committed; he was secure enough.
The constabulary took active measures to bring the guilty party within the meshes of the law. Constables were dispatched in every possible direction; notices were sent to the various stations, but as yet no clue had been found to the fugitive.
Miss Jamblin was in a critical state. The surgeon who attended upon her found her weak and dejected as a woman about to die.
Her face was furrowed by the traces of the scalding tears she had shed; her pulse was faintly fluttering like a wounded bird.
As for her father he said but little. It was, however, but too plainly shown that a strange change had come over him, and those about him whispered to each other that the old gentleman would never be the same man again.
The inquest was to take place at the “Carved Lion,” and for the convenience of the coroner and jury the body of the murdered man was brought from Stoke Ferry Farmhouse and placed in one of the private rooms of Brickett’s hostelry.
There could not be a moment’s hesitation in arriving at the conclusion as to the cause of death, but it was necessary for the usual formulæ to be gone through.