“You are late!” said she. “Well?” She held her breath for the answer.
“I am sorry to have given any unnecessary trouble, ma’am; for, after all, they’ve given up all thoughts of holding an inquest. I have had other work to do and other people to see, or I should have been here before now.”
“Then it is ended,” said Margaret. “There is to be no further enquiry.”
“I believe I’ve got Mr. Thornton’s note about me,” said the Inspector, fumbling in his pocket-book.
“Mr. Thornton’s!” said Margaret.
“Yes! he’s a magistrate—ah! here it is.”
She could not see to read it—no, not although she was close to the candle. The words swam before her. But she held it in her hand, and looked at it as if she were intently studying it.
“I’m sure, ma’am, it’s a great weight off my mind; for the evidence was so uncertain, you see, that the man had received any blow at all, and if any question of identity came in, it so complicated the case, as I told Mr. Thornton——”
“Mr. Thornton!” said Margaret again.
“I met him this morning, just as he was coming out of this house, and, as he’s an old friend of mine, besides being the magistrate who saw Leonards last night, I made bold to tell him of my difficulty.”