The detective stood silent a moment; then turned on the speaker with a queer enigmatic look.
“Well, I wouldn’t lose heart about him, if I was you,” he said drily.
“That’s good!” said Le Sage. “I can leave him with a tolerably safe conscience then.”
“What, sir—you’re going away before the inquiry?”
“I must, I’m afraid. I have business in London which I can no longer postpone.”
“But how about your evidence?”
“After what you have said, cannot you afford to do without it?”
The detective considered, frowning and rubbing his chin; then said simply, “Very well,” and made a movement to go.
They went down the garden together, and parted at the door in the wall. This was on the Saturday. On the following Monday the officer appeared for the last time to arrange for his witnesses on the Wednesday ensuing. He carried his handbag with him, and intimated that it was not his purpose to return again before the event. They were all—Mrs. Bingley perhaps excepted—glad to see the last of him, and the last of what his presence there implied, and welcomed the prospect of the one clean day which was to be theirs before their re-meeting in Court.
The Sergeant’s manner at his parting was restrained, and his countenance rigidly pale. Sir Calvin, receiving his formal thanks for the courtesy shown him, remarked upon it, and asked him if he were feeling overdone.