"No," replied Prelice, who was frowning at Horace's manners; "even if we caught up with him, he would say nothing. We must wait to see if he will again intervene in the case."
"He seems to have washed his hands of it," said Ned, sauntering back to the drawing-room.
"He did so before, yet when Miss Chent wired he came down. I wonder——" Prelice paused, and bit his fingers.
"You wonder what?"
"If Horace killed Sir Oliver and Agstone."
Shepworth stared. "That's a rotten bad shot, Dorry. Why should he?"
"Oh, I can assign no reason, but——"
"My dear old chap, it is absurd. I know you are thinking of the will being brought here by Horace; but why should not his story be a true one, since Agstone is his brother?"
"Well," Prelice threw out his hands with a despairing gesture, "I can't understand the whole business; it passes my powers of comprehension."
Before Ned could reply Mona summoned both the young men. Along with Martaban, she had been opening the parcel which Horace had thrown across the room, and was now exclaiming at its contents. "Ned, Lord Prelice, here is the Sacred Herb."