This was cold comfort to Mallien, who doubted if the will ever would be found. Leigh might have made a mistake, and there might be no will in existence, in which case, by making an enemy of Rupert, he would be worse off than he was at present. He thought that until the truth came to light, it would be just as well to temporize, and let things stand as they were. Therefore, as an outward sign of reconciliation, he dropped a cold kiss on his daughter's white brow, and retreated to his study. Dorinda, left alone in the little dining-room, had no desire to eat any breakfast, as the struggle to secure Rupert's safety had exhausted her greatly. She hastily drank a cup of coffee, then wrote a note to her lover, saying that he need not be afraid of the intervention of the police, and relating in detail the conversation just ended. Having sent this by hand to The Big House, the girl went about her daily duties, resolutely cheerful. Only by assuming a bold front could she combat the great trouble which threatened to overwhelm her and her lover. When the worst came to the worst, there would be time enough to think of further defense. But Dorinda believed that further defense would not be required.
Rupert was very well satisfied when he received Dorinda's note, as he had winced at the idea of Inspector Lawson intervening. He, of course, had been very certain that there was no chance of his being arrested, owing to the fact that the will could not be proved to exist. Still, Lawson was ambitious of promotion and obstinate in his own opinion, therefore, if Mallien had told his story, there might have been a chance of scandal. However, Dorinda having reduced her father to neutrality, the only thing that remained to do was to find the will. Rupert intended to search again among the papers at the Vicarage; but could not do so until the afternoon, as Carrington had sent a wire saying he would be down by the midday express. The Squire intended to meet him at the station, and talk to him on the way home, since he was anxious to know what was the best way to deal with the treacherous Mrs. Beatson. Knowing that she was a spy and an enemy, Rupert could hardly bear to see her about the house. However, he tolerated her presence until he heard what Carrington had to say.
By this time, all excitement had died out of the village, as the crime had been so thoroughly discussed that there was no more to be said about the matter. In their stolid bovine way, the rustics accepted the positive fact that their late spiritual adviser was dead and buried--accepted, also, the evident truth that the murderer would never be caught and punished. This being the case, they dismissed the past, and looked eagerly forward to the future when the new incumbent would arrive. It was reported that a vicar had already been appointed by the Bishop and that he had a family, and would make the Vicarage a much more lively place than it had been in Mr. Leigh's time. Oh, there was plenty to talk about and The Hendle Arms was filled with conversational yokels from morning until evening.
On the way to the station, Rupert stumbled across Titus Ark, who grinned in a toothless manner, touched his shabby hat, and shuffled along in a manner surprisingly spry for a man of eighty-odd years of age. Hendle stopped to give him a sixpence for snuff, to which the ancient was much addicted.
"You miss Mr. Leigh, Titus," he said, pityingly, for the old man was a lonely figure in the midst of the new generation.
"Hor! Hor! Hor!" croaked the aged sexton. "Why should I miss him Squoire when he bain't dead?"
"Why, Titus, you buried him--that is, you helped to place the body in the family vault. Poor Mr. Leigh could not have been buried alive."
"Who said as he was alive, Squoire? I never did."
"You say that he isn't dead."
"No more he be."