"I hope so," said Beryl, who looked pale and startled; "but you know you quarrelled with my uncle."
"Ah, did he?" said the policeman, and felt for his pocket-book. In doing so, he slightly relaxed his grip, and Bernard was quick to take advantage of the chance. Had he but reflected for a moment, he would have stood his ground and have faced the worst; but with the accusing face of Mrs. Gilroy before him, and a memory of the housemaid's evidence and Beryl's enmity, he decided hastily to fly. In a moment he laid the policeman flat on his back by a quick wrestling trick, and darted out into the street. Mrs. Gilroy ran to the door shrieking murder, and the word was heard by three or four policemen who were tramping hurriedly along in the wake of the breathless page. At once they realized the situation, and plunged into the fog after the flying form of the soldier. The page followed also, but speedily returned with the news that the fugitive was running towards High Street.
"He's bound to be caught," said Mrs. Gilroy.
"I hope not," said Beryl, who was standing in the hall much disturbed. "After all, he is my cousin."
"And a murderer," added the housekeeper. "Wait here, policeman."
"But he's got away," said the officer, considerably ruffled by the escape. "I must follow."
"The others are after him," said Julius, drawing him back. "You can't follow in the fog. It's thicker than ever. Mrs. Webber."
"Oh, what's the matter?" asked a trembling voice, and a white face appeared at the window of the carriage which stood at the door. "Mr. Beryl!"
"Sir Simon has been murdered by his grandson," said Julius, running down the steps and speaking quietly.
Mrs. Webber threw herself back into the carriage and shrieked, "Oh, horrible! Drive away—drive away."