The noise of the Décauville sounded outside. Teresa sprang to the window.
‘Here is father, Juana,’ she said anxiously. ‘If he should come upstairs——’
‘Go down and stop him from coming upstairs. Bridget and I will attend to this poor fellow.’
Her voice was charged with sympathy as she glanced at the sufferer on the bed. The reference to himself caused the detective to open his eyes.
‘I fell over the edge of the pit,’ he murmured faintly. ‘It was owing to the short grass being so slippery after the rain.’ He had no Irish accent now.
Then he closed his eyes again.
Teresa gave a sigh of relief as she left the room. Her father, then, was not in thought a murderer.
As she entered the hall from the stairs
Raphael Craig and Richard came in through the front-door. They had housed the two cars.
‘Where is he?’ asked Raphael of his daughter.