Dr. Horner had brought a large, bony hand down on his shoulder. He was a red-faced, jovial man, and he smiled as he held up his bag before them.
"All packed up and ready," he announced. "Got to be getting back now, aha! Got to be getting back."
"Have the witnesses signed the labels?" asked Penberthy, rather shortly.
"Yes, yes, quite all right. Both the solicitor johnnies, so they can't quarrel about that in the witness-box," replied Horner. "Come along, please—I've got to get off."
They found George Fentiman outside, seated on a tombstone, and sucking at an empty pipe.
"Is it all over?"
"Yes."
"Have they found anything?"
"Haven't looked yet," broke in Horner, genially. "Not at the part which interests you, that is. Leave that for my colleague Lubbock, you know. Soon give you an answer—say, in a week's time."
George passed his handkerchief over his forehead, which was beaded with little drops of sweat.