"Dead!--Of a crack on the head!"
"A splinter ran through his throat, and he bled out before they could stop it. You had better get away, Carron. There'll be a deuce of a row, because of his connections, you see."
"I'll stay and see it through. I'd no intent to kill the man--not that way, at any rate."
"You'll see it through from the outside a sight easier than from the inside," said young Pole. "You get away. We'll see to the rest. It's easier to keep out of the jug than to get out of it."
Carron pondered the question.
"I'll see my father," he said, with an accession of wisdom.
"That's right," said young Pole. "He'll know. Go at once. I'm off."
It was a week since Denzil had been to the house in Grosvenor Square, and when he got there he was surprised to find, early as it was, a travelling-chariot at the door, with trunks strapped on, all ready for the road.
He met his father's man coming down the stairs with an armful of shawls.
"Sir Denzil, Kennet. At once, please."