"Well, no; I don't think it is wise to do that. Let us call at the Vicarage, and give the man an opportunity of defending himself."
"He can make no defence, seeing that we hold the pistol with his name on it."
"My dear fellow," remonstrated Paul, "remember Herne's handkerchief. But for your evidence that he was in a trance, I should have believed him guilty."
"Chaskin does not fall into trances."
"I know that; but he may have some other defence. At all events, it is only just to give him a chance before making the affair public."
"As you please," said Lovel suddenly. "Let us go to the Vicarage at once. But Chaskin will only lie, and deny his guilt."
Chance had taken Lovel's steps across the common, for in his anger at Gran Jimboy's revelations he had not perceived where he was going. Paul had followed him, and while talking they had unconsciously drawn near to the stile which divided the common from the Winding Lane. Only when they halted at the stile itself did they realise where they were; and in silence they looked at one another.
"Shall we return?" said Paul, in a low voice.
Lovel shook his head, with a frown on his face, and climbed over the stile. Paul followed, and they walked on towards the scene of the tragedy. On the very spot where Milly's dead body had lain a man was standing with folded arms. He looked up as the young men drew near, and they saw the face of Darcy Herne. It was sad and downcast, and he appeared to have been meditating on the tragic death of his promised wife.
"Herne!" cried Paul, halting in his amazement, "I thought you were in London!"