“Not had time yet, sir; but I shall know all about her directly.”
At this tone of confidence Bartley Bradstone shifted in his seat.
“What does Mr. Faradeane say?” he asked.
“Surely he has explained his presence on the spot, and the revolver?” said the squire.
Mr. McAndrew shook his head.
“That’s the queer part of it, sir,” he said. “I’ve seen Mr. Faradeane before and after the inquest, and he declines to say a word. Now, if he had been the man he’d have been full of explanations; do you follow me, sir?”
“Perfectly,” responded the squire, with a sigh.
“They always are. They can account for everything; but Mr. Faradeane doesn’t seem to take the trouble to explain. That strikes me as being peculiar.”
“Perhaps he can’t explain,” said Bartley Bradstone, his eyes fixed on the carpet.
The detective looked from him to the squire, and then out of the window, abstractedly.