We carried the corpse to Dawson’s house. The poor wife was in fits. We heard her scream as we laid the body upon a table in the parlour.
“What more can be done?” said Lord Chester.
“Nothing,” was the general answer. No excitation makes the English people insensible to the chance of catching cold!
“Let us go home, then, and send to the nearest magistrate,” exclaimed our host: and this proposal required no repetition.
On our way, Chester said to me, “That fellow Dawson looked devilish uneasy—don’t you still suspect him and his friend?”
“I do not!” answered I, emphatically.