“I discovered Brandon’s body,” corrected Sir Richard. “How came you to do this, sir? You had a suspicion? You—”
“None at all. It was a warm evening, and I stepped out to enjoy a stroll in the moonlight. Chance alone led my footsteps to the wood where I found my unfortunate young friend’s body. It is only since making that melancholy discovery that I have pieced together the—er—evidence.”
Mr Philips had a hazy idea that chance had played an over-important part in Sir Richard’s adventures, but he was aware that the punch he had drunk had slightly clouded his intellect. He said guardedly: “Sir, the story you have unfolded is of a nature which—in short, it must be carefully sifted. Yes, indeed. Carefully sifted! I must request you not to remove from this neighbourhood until I have had time—pray do not misunderstand me! There is not the least suggestion, I assure you, of—”
“My dear sir, I don’t misunderstand you, and I have no intention of removing from this inn,” said Sir Richard soothingly. “I am aware that you have, so far, only my word for it that I am indeed Richard Wyndham.”
“Oh, as to that, I am sure—no suggestion of disbelieving—But my duty is prescribed! You will appreciate my position, I am persuaded!”
“Perfectly!” said Sir Richard. “I shall hold myself wholly at your disposal. You, as a man of the world, will, I am assured, appreciate the need of the exercise of—ah—the most delicate discretion in handling this affair.”
Mr Philips, who had once spent three weeks in London, was flattered to think that the imprint of that short sojourn was pronounced enough to be discernible to such a personage as Beau Wyndham, and swelled with pride. Native caution, however, warned him that his investigation had better be postponed to a more sober moment. He rose to his feet with careful dignity, and set his empty glass down on the table. “I am obliged to you!” he pronounced. “I shall wait upon you to-morrow—no, to-day! I must consider this affair. A terrible business! I think one may say, a terrible business!”
Sir Richard agreed to this, and after a meticulous exchange of courtesies, Mr Philips took his leave. Sir Richard snuffed the candles, and went up to bed, not dissatisfied with his night’s work.
In the morning, Pen was first down. The day was fine, and her cravat, she flattered herself, very well tied. There was a suggestion of a prance about her gait as she sallied forth to inspect the weather. Sir Richard, no believer in early rising, had ordered breakfast for nine o’clock, and it was as yet only eight. A maid-servant was engaged in sweeping the floor of the private parlour, and a bored waiter was spreading clean cloths over the tables in the coffee-room. As Pen passed through the entrance-parlour, the landlord, who was conversing in low tones with a gentleman unknown to her, looked round, and exclaimed: “Here is the young gentleman himself, sir!”
Mr Philips, confronted with the biggest crime ever committed within the limits of his jurisdiction, had perhaps imbibed too strong a brew of rum punch on the previous evening, but he was a zealous person, and, in spite of awaking with a very bad head, he had lost no time in getting out of his comfortable bed, and riding back to Queen Charlton to continue his investigations. As Pen paused, he stepped forward, and bade her a civil good-morning. She responded, wishing that Sir Richard would come downstairs; and upon Mr Philips’ asking her, in a tone of kindly patronage, whether she was Sir Richard’s young cousin, assented, and hoped that the magistrate would not ask for her name.