“If he can’t, then——”
He stopped.
“Well?” demanded the squire.
“Then he’s a lost man,” replied the detective.
CHAPTER XXVII.
A LOST MAN.
Not within the memory of the oldest inhabitant had there been so much excitement in the county.
That a murder should have been committed within a quarter of a mile of the Grange, on Olivia Vanley’s wedding day, was bad enough; but that the suspected man should be the mysterious Mr. Faradeane of The Dell, raised popular curiosity and interest to fever heat. Then came the news that the bride had been stricken down with fever, and was lying dangerously ill at her father’s house.
Scarcely any other topic was discussed, and persons eagerly asked one another whether any new phase of what was already called “the Hawkwood tragedy” had appeared. The only man who seemed to have retained his calmness in the midst of the excitement was the prisoner himself. While everybody else was eagerly debating the probability of his guilt or innocence, and endeavoring to ascribe the motive for his crime, if indeed he committed it, Harold Faradeane uttered no word which could tend toward a solution of the mystery.
Some thought that it was impossible for him to be innocent; and when the coroner’s jury had returned a verdict of willful murder, people shook their heads, and pursed their lips significantly.
Then came the examination before the magistrates. Long before the hour appointed for the sitting, the small court at Wainford was crammed. Men who had met and taken a sudden liking to the grave, handsome stranger, and ladies who had admired and wondered about him, filled all the available seats. On the bench sat Lord Carfield, the chairman, and two of his brother magistrates, but, as was expected, the Squire of Hawkwood was absent; though it was remarked that a groom from the Grange was on his horse outside the court, ready to carry home the result of the examination.