“You walked close upon twenty miles, but you walked round the wood instead of through it. That track goes pretty nearly round Garstone Woods. Mr. Wynne, this is the most unfortunate occurrence I ever heard of or saw in my life.”
“Pray do not fancy for a moment that, so far as I am concerned, I shall be inconvenienced for long,” said Harold. “It is a shocking thing for a son to be suspected even for a moment of the murder of his own father; but sometimes a curious combination of circumstances——”
“Of course—of course, that is just it. Do not blame me, I beg of you. Did you leave London yesterday?”
“Yes, by the four-fifty-five train.”
“Have you a portion of your ticket to Abbeylands?”
“I took a return ticket to Mowern. I gave one portion of it to the collector, the return portion is in my pocket.”
He produced the half of his ticket. Major Wilson examined the date, and took a memorandum of the number stamped upon it.
“Did you speak to anyone at the junction on your arrival?” he then inquired.
“I’m afraid that I abused the station-master for allowing the train to go to Abbeylands without me,” said Harold. “That was at ten minutes past seven o’clock. Oh, you need not fear for me. I made elaborate inquiries from the railway officials in London between half past four and the hour of the train’s starting. I also spoke to the station-master at Mindon, asking him if he was certain that the train would arrive at the junction in time.” Major Wilson’s face brightened. Before it had been somewhat overcast.
“A telegram, as a matter of form, will be sufficient to clear up everything,” said Major Wilson. “Yes, everything except—wasn’t that midnight walk of yours a very odd thing, Mr. Wynne?”