“I know very little about your brother Tom, Miss Williams, beyond the fact of his having caused your parents a great deal of anxiety. In fact it was the disgrace of their son’s dismissal from his situation, charged with conspiring with poachers to rob his master, which, I believe, broke their hearts. However, I have only one more question to ask. Have you seen or heard anything of your brother since his return to this neighbourhood? He was seen, I believe, not very far from this house on the morning of the 15th of August.”
Another passionate burst of sobbing from the girl, and this time an appeal to Mr. Warden.
“Will you allow me, sir, to be insulted in this way in your presence?” she demands. “I vow and declare since I have been in your service, I have always been an honest, faithful servant; I have never wronged any one by word or deed. I have always”—here another flood of tears.
“Gently, gently, Lucy,” expostulates Mr. Warden, “no one is bringing any charge against you.” Then, to the detective, “Is it not possible to waive this question, Mr. Hill? I really think you are going almost too far.”
“I will waive it with a great deal of pleasure, sir, and as far as that goes, I do not see any necessity for prolonging the interview. Miss Williams, I should certainly advise you to get a little quiet sleep in your own room, it will do more for you than anything else. Good morning, Mrs. Nesbitt, I am much obliged to you for the trouble you have taken for me.” He politely opens the door for the housekeeper, who conducts the still sobbing girl out of the room.
Then the man’s manner undergoes an entire change. He turns abruptly to Mr. Warden. “Keep your eye on that girl, sir; I have not passed the greater part of my life among rogues of all sorts not to know a guilty face when I see it. That girl is keeping something back, but what I am at present at a loss to imagine. Take my word for it, within a fortnight she will do one of two things, either request permission to leave on account of the dulness of the house or else run away. I think the latter, from the irresolution and want of nerve she has shown this morning, but I am not sure. I can only reiterate the advice I have already given you, watch and wait, and the moment your suspicions are aroused, communicate with me.”
And the detective takes his leave, and as Mr. Warden’s horses convey him swiftly along the high road to Dunwich, he shakes his head gravely and mutters, “This is a bad business, and I fear there is worse to come. I was never before so thoroughly at a loss; I cannot see one inch before me in the matter; however, we can only watch and wait.”
CHAPTER III.
IT seemed strange, at first, to the good people of Harleyford to see young Lord Hardcastle and the rector’s son daily in close and friendly intercourse, accustomed, as they were, to see each politely ignored by the other, or else spoken of in terms of supercilious contempt. It was certainly a strange sight to see the young men constantly walking side by side in earnest conversation, or else riding to and from each other’s houses. Lord Hardcastle’s weakness had hitherto been near-sightedness whenever Varley had happened to cross his path. “Who was that you recognized just now?” he would say to a companion, if he happened to have one at the time, and on being informed it was the rector’s son, would remark, carelessly—