Sir Gregory scratched his chin thoughtfully.
“He’s been away before, but mostly he goes to a shoot of mine about three miles away, where there’s plenty of cover and no intruders. I discovered that when a poacher saw him, and, like a fool, shot at him—that poacher was a lucky man to escape with his life. Have you found the body of Foss?”
The baronet had resumed his playing, and was looking at the ball at his feet.
“No,” said Michael quietly.
“Expect to find it?”
“I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Sir Gregory stood, his hands leaning on his club, looking across the wold.
“What’s the law in this country, suppose a man accidentally kills a servant who tried to knife him?”
“He would have to stand his trial,” said Michael, “and a verdict of ‘justifiable homicide’ would be returned and he would be set free.”
“But suppose he didn’t reveal it? Suppose he—well, did away with the body—buried it—and let the matter slide?”