“I’ve nothing to do with Ravensthorpe nowadays,” Cecil went on, after a pause. “I live there, that’s all. The whole affair went to Maurice—lock, stock, and barrel—when my father died. I’ve really no more right in these grounds than you have. I might be kicked out any day.”
Sir Clinton was puzzled by Cecil’s tone. It was only natural that Ravensthorpe should go down into the hands of Maurice, since he was the elder brother. There could be no particular grievance in that. And yet Cecil’s voice had betrayed something deeper than a mere mild resentment. The asperity in his last remark had been unmistakable.
For a few minutes Cecil remained silent, staring moodily out at the landscape. Sir Clinton refrained from interrupting his thoughts. The matter certainly had excited his curiosity; but until Cecil chose to say more, there seemed to be no reason for intruding into the private affairs of the Ravensthorpe household. Even the privileges of an old friend did not seem to Sir Clinton a sufficient excuse for probing into family matters.
But the Chief Constable, without any voluntary effort, had the gift of eliciting confidences without soliciting them. Cecil’s brooding came to an end and he turned round to face his companion.
“I suppose I’ve said either too much or too little already,” he began. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t tell you about the affair. It’s nearly common talk as it is, and you’re sure to hear something about it sooner or later. You may as well get it first-hand and be done with it.”
Sir Clinton, having solicited no confidence, contented himself with merely listening, without offering any vocal encouragement.
“You knew my father well,” Cecil went on, after a short pause in which he seemed to be arranging his ideas in some definite order. “He was one of the best, if you like. No one would say a word against him—it’s the last thing I’d think of doing myself, at any rate.”
Sir Clinton nodded approvingly.
“The bother was,” Cecil continued, “that he judged every one by himself. He couldn’t understand that any one might not be as straight as he always was. He never made an allowance for some kinds of human nature, if you see what I mean. And, another thing, he had a great notion of the duties of the head of the family. He took them pretty seriously and he looked after a lot of people who had no claim on him, really, except that they belonged to the clan.”
“He was always generous, I know,” Sir Clinton confirmed. “And he always trusted people. Sometimes, perhaps, he overdid it.”