Lord Carfield’s brows came together.
“Surely you must have some explanation to offer,” he said, just as he had said on the day of the murder. “Is it possible that you should fail to recognize the serious position in which you are placed?”
Faradeane raised his sad eyes, in which, sad as they were, there was nothing of craven fear or imploration.
“I fully appreciate my position, my lord,” he said, “and I regret that I have no explanation to offer.”
Lord Carfield pushed his notes aside with a grave impatience.
“Was there no one near the body excepting Mr. Faradeane?” he asked Browne.
“No, my lord.”
“You met no one? Think, and answer carefully. There was a large number of persons present at the Grange on that day; did you meet no one in the drive or in the wood?”
“No, my lord. The folks were all on the lawn listening to the singing and speech-making in the tent. I met no one, till I fetched the constable.”
Lord Carfield asked the same question of the constable, and received the same answer. No one had been seen in the wood or coming from it but the dead woman and the man Harold Faradeane, who stood so patiently and calmly waiting.