"Then you think that the murderer killed the vicar, and then looked about to find something, which he wished to get, and for the possession of which he committed the crime?"
Kensit hesitated. "I am not prepared to go that far," he remarked, after a pause. "All I can say is that I gained some such impression."
When this speech was made, Rupert glanced at Carrington and Carrington looked at Rupert. The same idea struck them simultaneously, that the murderer might have been searching for the will of John Hendle. But then the existence of that document was known only to the dead man, to the barrister and to the Squire. Rupert had been fast asleep when the crime was committed, and Carrington had been in London, so, of course, neither of the two could have had anything to do with the matter. Still, it seemed strange that the books and papers of the deceased should have been messed up. If search had not been made for the will in question, for what had the mysterious murderer been looking? This question both the young men asked themselves, and asked each other when the inquest was over.
It came to an end very speedily. The Coroner could only direct the attention of the jury to the facts laid before them, and did not offer any opinion, as indeed he could not. The jury brought in a verdict of "Willful murder against some person or persons unknown," which was all that could be done. Then the meeting broke up, the reporters slipped away with their loaded notebooks, grumbling at the dullness of the matter, and the crowd of villagers dispersed to wonder, for the hundredth time, who could have killed their amiable and kindly natured vicar.
"The beast who murdered Leigh could not have been looking for that will."
It was Hendle who spoke, as he walked back to The Big House with Carrington. The barrister shrugged his shoulders and replied, "I had the same idea when that policeman made his statement, and I saw you look at me. I agree with you, although it is strange that the books and papers should have been turned upside down. But only you and I know of----"
"Of course, of course," broke in the Squire quickly, "and, as I was in bed, and you in London, of course we had nothing to do with the matter."
"Did you tell anyone else about the will?"
"No. I never mentioned it to a soul."
"Good. I shouldn't if I were you."