"No. Not if you baffle the inquiries of those young men at the Manor House. They will meet you and question you, and get the truth out of you if they can. Whether they do or not all depends upon yourself."
"You leave it to me, sir," said Kerry confidently. "I'll manage to send them away without being a bit the wiser. And now, Mr. Hilliston, that this is settled, I would speak to you about my sister Mona."
Hilliston changed color, but nevertheless retained sufficient composure to fix his eyes on the man's face with a sad smile. "What of her, Kerry?" he asked, in a melancholy tone; "you know she is dead and gone."
"Augh! Augh! But her grave, sir. You must tell me where it is, for I have it in my mind to go and see it."
"What would be the good of you doing that," said Hilliston disapprovingly.
"Because I was harsh with her, sir. If she did wrong, she suffered for it, and it was wicked of me to let her go as I did. Where is her grave, sir?"
"In Chiswick Cemetery," said Hilliston, as the chaise stopped at the railway station; "if you come up to London and call at my office I will tell you where to find it."
Kerry was profuse in his thanks, and, touching his hat gratefully, accepted the shilling which Hilliston put into his hand; but when the train containing Hilliston started for Eastbourne, he threw away the money, and shook his fist after the retreating carriages. Not a word did he say, but the frown on his face grew deeper and deeper as he got into the trap again, and drove slowly back to Thorston. Evidently he trusted Hilliston no more than did Tait or Jenny.
It was now quite dark, for the daylight and afterglow had long since vanished from the western skies, and the moon was not yet up. Only the stars were visible here and there in the cloudy sky, and finding their light insufficient to drive by, Kerry got down and lighted the carriage lamp. Heaven only knows of what he was thinking as he drove along the dusky lanes. The past unrolled itself before his eyes, and what he saw there made him groan and heave deep sighs. But there was no use in so indulging his memories, and thinking of his master, Kerry braced himself up to see what could be done toward meeting the dangers which seemed to threaten on all sides. When he delivered the trap again to the groom of the vicar, he hit on an idea which he proceeded to carry out.
Instead of going back at once to Rose Cottage, he borrowed a piece of paper and a pencil from the groom, and laboriously traced a few lines by the light of the stable lantern. Putting this missive in his pocket, he went off in the direction of the Manor House; but leaving the public road he skirted the low stone wall which divided it from the adjacent fields. Kerry knew every inch of the ground, and even in the darkness had no difficulty in guiding himself to his destination. This was a vantage point at the end of the wall, whence he could see into a sitting room of the house. In a few minutes Kerry was perched on this wall, busily engaged in tying his letter to an ordinary sized stone.