Payne called to a comrade outside, who was, as it happened, new to the force, and they spent at least ten minutes questioning the servants and going up and down the house. Then, as they glanced into the general room, the trooper looked deprecatingly at his officer.
“I fancied I heard somebody riding by the bluff just before we reached the house,” he said.
Payne wheeled round with a flash in his eyes. “Then you have lost us our man. Out with you, and tell Jackson to try the bluff for a trail.”
They had gone in another moment, and Witham still sat at the foot of the table and Barrington at the head, while the rest of the company were scattered, some wonderingly silent, though others talked in whispers, about the room. As yet they felt only consternation and astonishment.
[CHAPTER XXIV—COURTHORNE MAKES REPARATION]
The silence in the big room had grown oppressive when Barrington raised his head and sat stiffly upright.
“What has happened has been a blow to me, and I am afraid I am scarcely equal to entertaining you to-night,” he said. “I should, however, like Dane and Macdonald, and one or two of the older men, to stay a while. There is still, I fancy, a good deal for us to do.”
The others turned towards the door, but as they passed Witham, Miss Barrington turned and touched his shoulder. The man, looking up suddenly, saw her and her niece standing close beside her.
“Madam,” he said hoarsely, though it was Maud Barrington he glanced at, “the comedy is over. Well, I promised you an explanation, and now you have it you will try not to think too bitterly of me. I cannot ask you to forgive me.”
The little white-haired lady pointed to the ears of wheat which stood gleaming ruddy-bronze in front of him.