“In bed and asleep, I suppose.”
“But—but where have you been, then?”
“London, I tell you. Shouldn’t have been back now, only I couldn’t find Harry Dasent. He’s off somewhere, so I thought I’d better come back. I say, is she all right again?”
“I knew it! I knew it!” shrieked Mrs Wilton. “I said it from the first. Oh, James, James!—The pond—the pond! She’s gone—she’s gone!”
“Who’s gone?” stammered Claud, looking from father to mother, and back again.
“Kate, dear; drowned—drowned,” wailed Mrs Wilton.
“What!” shouted Claud.
“Look here, sir,” said his father, catching him by the arm in a tremendous grip, as he raised the candle to gaze searchingly in his son’s face; “let’s have the truth at once. You’re playing some game of your own to hide this—this escapade.”
“Guv’nor!” cried the young man, catching his father by the arm in turn; “put down that cursed candle; you’ll burn my face. You don’t mean to say the little thing has cut?”