"Ay, well, they did admit, these men too, that it seemed a bit tottery, like," remarked the landlord. "Talking it over, between themselves, in here, they agreed, to be sure, that it felt to give a bit. All the same, there's them as says that it's a queer thing it should ha' given altogether when young squire walked on it."
Collingwood clinched matters with a straight question.
"You don't mean to say that people are suggesting that the foot-bridge had been tampered with?" he asked.
"There is them about as wouldn't be slow to say as much," answered the landlord. "Folks will talk! You see, sir—nobody saw what happened. And when country folk doesn't see what takes place, with their own eyes, then they——"
"Make mysteries out of it," interrupted Collingwood, a little impatiently. "I don't think there's any mystery here, landlord—I understood that this foot-bridge was in a very unsafe condition. No! I'm afraid the whole affair was only too simple."
But he was conscious, as he said this, that he was not precisely voicing his own sentiments. He himself was mystified. He was still wondering why Pratt had been so pertinacious in asking the old woodman when, precisely, he had told Mrs. Mallathorpe about the unsafe condition of the bridge—still wondering about a certain expression which had come into Pratt's face when the old man told them what he did—still wondering at the queer look which Pratt had given the information as he went off into the plantation. Was there, then, something—some secret which was being kept back by—somebody?
He was still pondering over these things when he went back to the Grange, later in the evening—but he was resolved not to say anything about them to Nesta. And he saw Nesta only for a few minutes. Her mother, she said, was very ill indeed—the doctor was with her then, and she must go back to them. Since her son's death, Mrs. Mallathorpe had scarcely spoken, and the doctor, knowing that her heart was not strong, was somewhat afraid of a collapse.
"If there is anything that I can do,—or if you should want me, during the night," said Collingwood, earnestly, "promise me that you'll send at once to the inn!"
"Yes," answered Nesta. "I will. But—I don't think there will be any need. We have two nurses here, and the doctor will stop. There is something I should be glad if you would do tomorrow," she went on, looking at him a little wistfully, "You know about—the inquest?"
"Yes," said Collingwood.