Muriel stopped, the color creeping into her face, which was filled with anger.
“It’s impossible that Mr. Prescott could have had any connection with Cyril’s disappearance. It’s wicked and cruel to suspect him!”
“You seem strangely convinced of his innocence,” Gertrude retorted with a somber glance at her. “We shall see by and by whether you or my father is right.”
They walked on slowly, and shortly afterward two mounted figures appeared on the plain. Gertrude watched them draw near, and then turned to her companion.
“The police; we have been expecting them,” she said. “My father sent a message to the corporal after Prescott had gone.”
“Then he will be deeply ashamed of his harshness before long,” Muriel declared as she abruptly moved away.
Gertrude let her go with a cruel smile. She thought she knew how matters stood, and if the girl were suffering, she had no pity for her. Then she waited until the police trotted by, and afterward walked slowly toward the house. On reaching it, she met Curtis coming out and he asked for a word with her.
“I understand you were the last person to see Prescott when he left this place the other night,” he said.
Gertrude admitted it, watching the man. He looked disturbed, as if he did not know what to think. Private Stanton was sitting in his saddle with an expressionless face a few yards away, but she imagined it was intended that he should hear her answers.
“Well,” Curtis resumed, “I have to ask what he said to you; anyway, so far as it bears on the business we have in hand. You know why I was sent for?”