‘How could he ha’ done it? how could he ha’ done it?’ he muttered to himself as, pale and agitated, he listened to the little group of servants talking near the house.
No one doubted for a moment that the young squire was the guilty person. Had he not been caught red-handed? Who his companion in the crime was they could only conjecture. He had got clear away.
When Marks joined the group they turned on to him with a hundred questions. Had he let Master George in? Had he heard anything about his daughter?
No one knew that Bess was even then at the lodge. George had been so cautious that, except to Marks, their arrival was a secret.
The servants hazarded a hundred conjectures as to what could have led the young squire to commit such an awful deed. They had noticed his dusty clothing and his haggard look, and they had almost pitied him until they saw their old master’s terrible condition, and remembered who was the cause of it.
Marks, nervous lest he should, in his agitation, betray how much he kuew, barely answered the questions addressed to him. He asked anxiously how the squire was, and learned that he was worse. Then he went back, heavy-hearted and red-eyed, to tell his poor girl as hopeful a tale as he might.
On the way he met a constable who had been searching the grounds.
The man stopped him.
‘You are the gate-keeper?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ stammered Marks, for the man was eyeing him keenly.