“Well, here’s all Redhurst and half Oxley, and more coming along the path. Get into the house, Bessie, you little forward, unfeeling hussy, a-chattering about the poor dear young lady you saw drowned before your eyes!” cried Wood, not knowing why his real share in the sad tragedy made him so impatient of idle curiosity regarding it. Not but what there would be many genuine tears shed from many eyes for sweet Mysie Crofton; but excitement is a powerful rival at first to grief.
James stood aghast. How could he go and look for Hugh in all this confusion? How would Hugh face it?
Up stepped the inspector of police from Oxley.
“Mr James Crichton, I was fortunately on the spot first, and I have secured the gentlemen’s guns. One was found in the wood and one on the bank; also this rabbit.”
“Is Mr Spencer Crichton here?” said James.
“No, sir, I have not seen him.”
“Can’t you get all these people away?”
“Well, sir, accidents always collect a crowd.”
“My brother,” said James, “was here at the time. Perhaps, if you see him, you would tell him he is wanted at home.”
“Very well, sir,” said the inspector, with an absence of comment which was a great relief to James, who was now beset by a crowd of Redhurst folk, with questions and lamentations.