"I don't suppose so. That big military-looking fellow meant to make sure of me. No doubt he'll send a groom over with our description. He seemed to recognize you, too."
Ingleby rose abruptly and leaned against the mantel with his lips firmly set. It was several moments before he spoke again.
"I think he did," he said. "In fact, I'd have done almost anything sooner than have had this happen; though that doesn't matter now. There's a more important question—and it has to be faced."
They looked at each other in silence for a second or two, and both their faces were very grim with the shadow of fear in them. They were young, and shrank from the contemplation of what it seemed had been done. The thing was horrible in itself, quite apart from the consequences, which promised to be disastrous.
"You mean," said Leger very quietly, "is he dead?"
Ingleby made a little gesture, and once more for almost a minute the heavy silence was intensified by the ticking of his watch and the sounds in the street below. Both of them listened intently, almost expecting to hear the tramp of heavy feet upon the stairway.
"Heaven forbid!" said Ingleby, a trifle hoarsely. "Still, he looked horribly like it. There's just one thing of which I should like to be quite certain."
"Of course!" and Leger met his comrade's gaze. "Suppose I told you I did it, would it separate us?"
"No," said Ingleby. "You know that. It might have been I; and, anyway, we were both in the thing."
"Then, as you supposed, the military man was mistaken. I had nothing in my hands, and never even reached him."