"Well?" he said. He was very quiet and composed now. "The show's over, Bennett. All over. I suppose we had better send for a doctor or something."
"It's murder. "
"Yes," the other agreed, nodding. "It's murder." His dull eyes wandered round the room. "When I find the man who did it," he said quietly, "I'll kill him. I mean that."
"But what happened last night?"
"I don't know. But we're going to wake up everybody in the house and hammer the truth out of them. I was detained in town-I would be. So I didn't get here until three o'clock this morning or thereabouts. Everything was dark. I didn't even know in what room they'd put Marcia. She swore she was going to stay in this place, but I didn't know she meant it." He looked round again, and added slowly: "Maurice's work, I fancy. But she'd made me promise to ride with her early. So I got a little — a little sleep," he said, looking at Bennett out of haggard eyes, "and got up and woke Thompson. Butler. He'd been up half the night with a toothache anyway. He said she was here. He said she'd fixed it with Locker to bring round the horses at seven o'clock. So I came out here, and Locker hailed me as I was going in just when that dog Have a drink? Or shall we go up to the house and get some coffee?"
After a long pause, while he tried to make his manner inhumanly casual, Bohun broke a little. His eyes squeezed up.
"She looked pitiful, didn't she?" he asked.
"We'll find him," said Bennett; "at least, I know a man who will. Sorry, old son. Were you — were you so very much-'
"Yes," said Bohun. "Come on."
The other hesitated. He felt like a fool, and yet a nervous fear worried at him. "I was only thinking before we go out of here and make more tracks… There weren't any tracks beside your own coming into this place.."