A group of servants scattered dumbly before him as he appeared. The glare of lights dazzled him, but he fancied they looked at him strangely. He flung an oath at the groom who stepped forward to take his horse.
"What are you staring at? What's the matter?"
The man murmured something unintelligible.
Sir Giles dismounted and scowled around. His limbs were stiff and not over steady.
"What's the matter with you all?" he growled. "You look like a crowd of death's heads. Hullo! What's this?"
He had caught sight of something he had not seen before, something that sent him striding furiously forward. For there in the centre of the yard, standing huddled on three legs, was the grey horse his wife had ridden. Limp and draggled, plastered with mud and foam, with a great streaming gash on the shoulder, and head hanging down in utter exhaustion, stood the grey.
"What's this?" demanded Sir Giles again. "Where's her ladyship?"
A shudder seemed to run through the assembled men. There was a moment's silence. Then old Dimsdale, the butler, who was standing in the doorway that led to the servants' quarters, stumped forward and made reply.
"The animal's come home alone, Sir Giles."
"What?" thundered his master.