“I heard voices,” he said.
“Holmes is here from Norwich,” Sir Bertram confided, “and the immortal Cloutson with him—you know, the travelling inspector for the district. They have an idea that some one crossed the park from the Hall last night.”
“In connection, I presume, with the burglary at the Great House,” Henry observed.
His brother nodded.
“A silly business! Have you seen anything of Gregory?”
“Not since breakfast time. He spoke of going to Norwich. He found he wanted another trunk.”
Sir Bertram sighed. The brothers walked out together through the fine Gothic side entrance which led on to the lawns and gardens.
“You had no communication from Mr. Borroughes this morning, I suppose?” Henry Ballaston asked, a little hesitatingly.
“Nothing,” was the level reply. “There was a letter from Kershaw—the lawyer fellow of whom Emily spoke so highly. He said that he had studied the position from every point of view and regretted to find that he could discover no means remaining by which sufficient money to pay the overdue interest on the first mortgage could be legitimately raised. The timber will be the only thing, and the timber is Ballaston.”
“The timber is sacred,” Henry agreed. “Has Mr. Kershaw examined the position so far as regards the Romneys and the three Gainsboroughs?”