“I’ve a good idea,” Nasmyth answered dryly. “In my opinion, so has Lisle.”
“But you were on the far side of the hedge on the morning we tried the horse, and Lisle was down. He wasn’t conscious when I broke through the thorns.”
“Quite correct; but it’s most unlikely he lost consciousness from the fall, and he was lying with his face turned toward the jump—it wasn’t until the chestnut came down on his shoulder that he was badly hurt. The doctor agreed with me on that point.”
“That might have struck me,” Crestwick rejoined. “But you owned that you had an idea of what happened at the jump. How did you get it? Did Lisle tell you?”
Nasmyth smiled grimly.
“I’m firmly convinced that he’ll never mention what he saw or suspects to anybody, unless it’s to Gladwyne. As to the rest, the hedge wasn’t thick enough to prevent my seeing through it.”
“He’s an unusual man,” declared Crestwick in an admiring tone. “I haven’t met his equal. But I’ll keep my eye on Gladwyne—there’s risk enough at some of the rapids—the hound shan’t have another chance if I can help it.”
They turned and went back to camp, but on reaching it they sat down among the packers, avoiding Gladwyne and Millicent.