Before Richard could prevent her, Teresa had also looked over.
‘God!’ she cried softly. ‘Is my father a——’
She stopped. The old man glanced mildly upwards.
Richard and Teresa with one accord ran along the edge of the pit, and then down the zigzag path till they stood facing Raphael Craig, the prone body of the detective between them.
‘What is this?’ questioned the old man coldly, pushing back the gray hairs from his forehead. ‘Spying again?’
He looked intently at Richard. He seemed to ignore the silent form on the ground.
‘Father,’ cried Teresa, ‘if you have killed him, fly. Take the motor-car and get away as far as you can and as fast as you can. Mr. Redgrave and I——’
‘Killed him!’ Raphael Craig exclaimed.
‘Why should I kill him? I found him lying here—here where I came to seek him. He must have fallen over this miniature precipice.’
‘He isn’t dead,’ said Teresa eagerly; she had knelt beside the detective.