The Nether Millstone

by Fred M. White

"Not so very strange, my lady," Slight replied, "seeing that I set out early to look for him. I thought last night when your message came----"

"What message do you mean? I sent no message to the Hall."

"Well, that's very strange! Mr. Mayfield is staying at the Hall. He told Mr. Ralph that you wanted to see him very particularly last night, and he left early in consequence. Call me an old fool if you like, my lady, but I had a fancy that those two men meant mischief to Mr. Ralph. I couldn't sleep for thinking of it. I came downstairs very early this morning, and I found that Mayfield, not yet undressed, helping himself to whiskey and soda. And there was mud on his dress shoes. I couldn't stand it any longer, so I set out at daybreak to look for I didn't quite know what. And I found Mr. Ralph. How those fellows managed it, I can't say, but they did manage it. And it is no fault of theirs that they're not a pair of cold-blooded murderers."

The doctor came presently. He was upstairs for a long time, but when he came down again his face was not so grave as might be expected.

"A bad blow," he explained. "A bad concussion, but no brain injury as far as I can judge. And the patient is going on as well as I could expect. Oh, no, he isn't going to die. He has too good a constitution for that, and he has taken good care of himself. I'll come back in the course of an hour or so and report again."

There was nothing for it now but to wait and hope for the best and keep the patient quiet. Well satisfied with his efforts, Slight returned to the Hall. When he got back there he found that Mayfield had already departed. Speed, restless and irritable, and giving the impression that he had breakfasted on something potent, demanded to know where Slight had been. Mr. Dashwood had not come down to breakfast yet.

"Where have you been gallivanting to?" Speed demanded imperiously. "I'll put a stop to this. Pack up your traps and go. You'll not serve me any more."

"You never spoke a truer word than that," Slight said coolly. "I sha'n't serve you any more, for the very good reason that you won't be here to serve. If you raise a hand to me I'll break your head with this hot water jug, old man as I am. I was out early this morning looking for a murderer's work, and I found it. It was I who found the body of Mr. Ralph, and took it to the dower house. And he is not dead; and what is more to the point he isn't going to die, you cold-blooded assassin."

Speed's face turned a ghastly grey. His bluster had left him.

"I know now how it was done," Slight went on. "I guessed it all as soon as I heard that Lady Dashwood sent no message as to wanting to see Mr. Ralph last night. The dodge was to get him to leave the house and pass along the verandah. You shammed being ill, and pretended that the light was too strong for you. That enabled you to lie and wait till Mr. Ralph came along. Then you hit him with a loaded stick, the one that used to hang in the gun room. James missed that stick just now and told me so. And there poor Mr. Ralph lay till everybody had gone to bed. Then you stole out and carried him as far as the big oak tree, and left him there with his pockets all turned out as if robbery had been the motive. But one thing gave you away. Mr. Ralph left the house when it was raining. He walked under the balcony out of the rain till he was struck down by you, so that he lay sheltered.