“Uncle George, we shall lose the train,” said Nell, in a quavering voice.
Then the policeman glanced from George Claris to the trunk behind; and, as the dog-cart drove off, he whispered some words to the man nearest to him, which sent him running at a good pace in the direction of Stroan.
Uncle and niece had scarcely got on the platform of the little station when the local police superintendent dashed through the doorway after them.
“Ah, Mr. Claris, I’m just in time, I see,” he sang out cheerily, as he touched his hat politely to Nell. “Going up to London for a holiday?”
“Not me. Can’t afford holidays,” replied Claris, rather surlily. “I’m seeing my niece off, that’s all.”
“Well, I’m sorry to have to stop the lady’s trip, but we shall want her as a witness at the inquest that’s to be held this afternoon. Very sorry, Miss,” he went on to Nell, “but it’s only putting off the pleasure for a few days.”
But Nell looked as much overwhelmed as if the summons of the superintendent had been a death-warrant. She made no answer, but stood silently, tearless but terror-struck, in front of the two men staring at the approaching train, with her lips parted and a wild look in her eyes.
Her uncle roused her with a rough shake of the arm.
“What’s come to the girl? Don’t look like that!” said he in her ear. “Folks’ll think you had a hand in it yourself if you go into court with that face!”
To his surprise and chagrin she took him at his word.