"Some one must manage things," said the brave little woman, "and I know well enough you're incapable, poor dear! Harold could be of use, I know, but I don't want him just now. When I do, I'll send for him."
"He was here this morning, Jenny."
"I know he was; I saw him before you were up. He told me about the finding of poor Gilbert's body."
"Who found it?"
"Branksom, the lodgekeeper. He was coming home from the village about ten last night, and took the short path through the orchards. He stumbled over a body in the dark, and lit a match to see who it was, thinking it was some drunken man. The match blew out, but he recognized Gilbert, and saw the blood on his face, so he ran back to give the alarm. Harold, who was at the 'Chequers,' heard of the murder, and came with a man to remove the body. In fact, he was the first to arrive, and he examined the corpse before the rest came up."
Wilfred, a pale-faced, delicate-looking young man, with large, dark eyes, and a hectic flush on his face, shuddered at the calmness with which Lady Jenny went into these details. "I don't know how you can do it!" he gasped, putting his hand to his throat like a hysterical woman. "It is terrible. And I thought you were so fond of Gilbert."
"Yes, I was fond of him," said Lady Jenny, with emphasis, "but I learned something about him lately which rather checked my fondness."
"What?"
"Something that concerned our two selves only. Wilfred. Poor Gilbert! He is dead, so I suppose I must forgive him."
"I wonder who killed him?" said Wilfred.