“Spite?”
“Yes, sir. Young gent got any enemies as you know on?”
The rector laughed and Distin joined in, making the constable scratch his head.
“Oh, no, my man, we have no enemies in my parish. You have not got the right clue this time. Try again.”
“I’m going to, sir, but that’s all for to-day,” said the man, buttoning up his book in his pocket. “I think we’ll go back to the town now.”
“By all means,” said the rector. “Very painful and very strange. Come, Distin.”
As he spoke he walked from under the twilight of the great beech-wood out into the sunshine, where about a dozen of the searchers were waiting impatiently in charge of the second constable for a report of what had been done.
As the rector went on, Distin looked keenly round and then bent down over the leaves which bore the ugly stains, and without noticing that the constable had stolen so closely to him, that when he raised his head he found himself gazing full in the man’s searching eyes.
“Very horrid, sir, aren’t it,” he said.
“Yes, yes, horrible,” cried Distin, hastily, and he turned sharply round to follow the rector.