“Still, if he had been captured we should have heard of it,” Mr. Marx objected.
“Probably. And yet I don’t see why. I should not, at any rate, as I have been away at the monastery; and you, I don’t know how you would have heard of it, unless you read the local papers.”
“A weakness of which I am not guilty,” he answered drily. “Nor have I been outside the grounds. We have been hard at work.”
“Did you walk here?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“I came down in a trap from the Castle, but the man was going to Mellborough and I told him not to wait for me. You won’t walk across the park with me, I suppose, just to get an appetite for dinner? It’s a splendid evening.”
I looked at him furtively, but closely. Yes, Mr. Marx was a coward, in addition to his other slight demerits.
“No, thanks,” I answered shortly. “I’ve had a long walk already today. Good evening!”
I turned back into the sitting-room, but before I had reached my easy-chair I began to think that I was scarcely behaving well. After all, Mr. Marx was a middle-aged man, and it was possible that his strength might have been sapped by the brain labour in which he was constantly engaged and his sedentary life.
Supposing he were to encounter this lunatic and suffer at his hands, perhaps even lose his life, should I not blame myself? I came to a speedy decision. I would let him have his fright, but I would follow him at a little distance and see that he came to no harm.