“You have heard what has happened,” he said, as he shook hands silently. “I expect Sir Charles Harris here in half an hour. I suppose you will not go up till then?”
“No, I think it will be best that no one should go in until he comes. I have been speaking to Simeox; he was going in, but I told him I thought it was better to wait. I may as well take the opportunity of going upstairs to see Mr. Bastow. I hear that he fainted when he heard the news, and that he is completely prostrate.”
“Two such shocks might well prove fatal to him,” Mark said; “he has been weak and ailing for some time.”
“Two shocks?” the doctor repeated interrogatively.
“Ah, I forgot you had not heard about the affair yesterday evening: a man fired at us through the window when we were sitting round the fire, before the candles were lit. The ball passed between my father's head and Mr. Bastow's; both had a narrow escape; the bullet is imbedded in the mantelpiece. I will have it cut out; it may be a useful item of evidence some day.”
“But what could have been the man's motive? Your father was universally popular.”
“Except with ill doers,” Mark said. “I ran out and chased the fellow for half a mile, and should have caught him if he had not had a horse waiting for him in a lane, and he got off by the skin of his teeth. I hope that next time I meet him he will not be so lucky. Mr. Bastow was very much shaken, and went to bed soon afterwards. I am not surprised that this second shock should be too much for him. Will you go up and see him? I will speak to Simeox.”
The constable was out in the garden.
“This is a terrible business, Mr. Thorndyke. I suppose, after what you told me, you have your suspicions?”
“They are not suspicions at all—they are certainties. Did you hear that he tried to shoot my father yesterday evening?”