She shrank from me for a space against the lintel.
“It’s horse’s blood. We’ve had some trouble in the stables, and I’m afraid I don’t cut a very pretty figure just now.” I tried to make light of it in this way; but it was a feeble effort.
“Tell me—at once. The truth, please.” There was eagerness now in her tone, as well as the usual imperative note.
I hesitated. “I suppose you’d better know it,” I said then. “There has been foul play in the night, and our horses have been killed. I got this on me when I was tracing the thing to its source. That’s all—but it’s bad enough.”
“How many?”
“All but one—and he’s dead lame, I’m afraid.”
“Is this true? or is it an excuse to keep me here?”
I winced. The injustice bit deep. I looked at her with a protest in my eyes.
“If you’ll put that question plainly, perhaps you’ll see it in its proper light, and understand how it may sound to me. No, I don’t mean that. It doesn’t matter. I have told you the truth; that’s all.”
“But it does mean delay?”