At eight o’clock there was a tap at the drawing-room door. Richard jumped up and came out of the room. Bridget stood before him.
‘Miss Teresa up?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said the housekeeper, ‘and not likely to be yet, the darling! I came to give ye a hint, Mr. Redgrave, that ye might do worse than seek a breakfast down in the village, at the White Horse.’
‘Micky, ye mean? Better—though the spalpeen doesn’t deserve God’s goodness nor Miss Juana’s loving care.’
‘Mr. Craig up?’ he asked further ‘No,’ said Bridget.
‘Yes,’ said Richard, ‘I’ll go down to the village, and come back again in a couple of hours.’
‘How’s the patient?’ he asked.
He passed quietly out of the house. He had, however, not the slightest intention of going down to the village. Determined to ignore the fact that he had been caught as a spy once, and the risk that he might be caught again, he turned to the left as soon as he was out of the garden and crept under the garden wall up to the sheds, which he cautiously entered. Safely within the range of buildings, he soon found an outlook therefrom which commanded a view of the house—a vantage-point whence he could see without being seen.
Nothing unusual occurred. Indeed, save that Bridget came forth to attend to the mares, having doubtless been instructed to do so by Teresa, nothing occurred at all till a little after nine o’clock. Then Mr. Craig issued quickly out of the house, went along the boreen, and down towards the village. At a discreet distance Richard followed him, for he deemed it his bounden-duty to keep an eye on Raphael Craig until Nolan, the detective, should have departed from the house. It was not pleasant for him to think of his prospective father-in-law as a potential murderer, but he had no alternative save to face the possibility. It is a full mile from Queen’s Farm to Hockliffe village. Mr. Craig, however, walked quickly, and the distance was soon accomplished. The old man went into the general store, which is also the post-office—a tiny place crammed with the produce of the East and of the West. After a moment’s hesitation, Richard also walked towards the post-office. When he reached it, Mr. Craig was in the act of paying for a telegram.
‘Hullo! Good-morning,’ said Raphael Craig blithely. ‘What are you doing here?’