"You won't find another horse, Jack, unless you brought him. Whitmore keeps but one."
"Confound it all, Lydia!" He came sullenly back towards the window.
"You've said that before. The man's gone, unless Hodgson can overtake him—which I doubt. He rides sixteen stone if an ounce, and the mare's used to something under eleven. So give over, my boy, and come in and tell me what it's all about."
"Look here," he growled, clambering back into the room, "there's devilry somewhere at the bottom of this. The fellow's nag was ready saddled—I got near enough to see that: and the yard-gate posted open: and—the devil take it, Lydia, I believe you opened that window on purpose! Did you?"
"That's telling, my dear. But, if you like, we'll suppose that I did."
"Then," said Mr. Rogers bitterly, "it may interest you to know that you've given him bail from the gallows. He's no priest at all: by his own confession he's a forger: and I'll lay odds he's a murderer too, if that's enough. But perhaps you knew this without my telling you?"
Miss Belcher took a step or two towards the fireplace and back. Her face, hidden for a moment, was composed when she turned it again upon us.
"Don't be an ass, Jack. I knew nothing of the sort."
"You knew enough, it seems," Mr. Rogers persisted sulkily, "to guess he was in a hurry. And you'll excuse me, Lydia, but this is a serious business. Whether you knew it or not, you've abetted a criminal in escaping from the law, and I've my duty to do. What brought you here to-night?"
"Are you asking that as a Justice of the Peace?"