Dr. Martin got up.
“Now would you like to summon one of your men to help us?” he said. “We must move the body, of course. Is there some room near at hand where we can place him till morning, when I will be back early to make all arrangements—some room which you can lock up and give me the key or keep it yourself?”
“Yes, there’s the smoking-room close at hand,” said Colin. “But there is no need to call anybody. I will help you.”
They laid him on a sofa there, covering the face with a rug, and presently, after the key was turned, and Colin had taken it from the lock, he saw the doctor to the door. In his admirable way he had conveyed the impression of being terribly shocked and keeping a firm hand on himself.
“You can rest assured, Lord Yardley,” said the doctor, “that you did all that could be done. You acted with great wisdom in not moving him, and in sending at once for me. I wish I could have been of any use. Put your mind quite at rest about that. You’ll sleep I hope?”
Colin raised soft swimming eyes.
“I feel as if I should,” he said. “Now it is all over I feel most awfully tired. Good night, Dr. Martin. Ever so many thanks.”
Colin bolted and barred the door, switched off the lights in the hall and went upstairs. Passing Dennis’s door, he saw that it still stood ajar, and a line of brightness was rectangled round it. He pushed it quietly open, expecting to see that Dennis had again fallen asleep while waiting for him to come and say good night. This time, however, the boy was wide-awake.
“Oh, Father, what an age you’ve been,” he said. “What have you been doing?”
It was as if some shutter had been snapped down in Colin’s mind. Behind it lay all that had happened in this last hour, bright and vivid as in some decked shop window but now cut off from view.