"She wur just a bit o' painted brass," said Bessie. "This gal's terrible young. Oh, ain't it awful to see 'em all so wicked! Folks are saying they won't ha' much more of it."
"Where was she going?" asked Nellie impatiently.
"To Black Anchor Farm. Where else would she be going? The driver stopped by the green and asked the way to Black Anchor."
"'Tis three o'clock. She can't get away tonight," Kezia whispered.
"She brought a bag—she's going to stay a long while," muttered Bessie, covering her face for shame.
"Policeman ought to get hold of her and lock her up," cried Kezia wrathfully.
"Ah, that he ought," agreed Bessie. "If me and Robert wur to have a few words, he'd be round quick enough and tell us to keep our mouths shut. Pity I b'ain't an actress! I could do what I liked then. The folks won't stand much more of it. I wish Captain Drake wur back again; he'd have they Brocks out of the country in no time."
Nellie crept back to her room and destroyed the unfinished letter. Then she drew down the blind.
The second incident commenced about an hour later, when another conveyance reached Highfield and proceeded at once to Windward House. A gentleman stepped out and inquired for Mr. Drake. Having learnt from Kezia that George was absent, but expected home at any time, the gentleman said he would take a stroll round the village and await his coming.
This incident would have passed almost unnoticed, so far as the general public were concerned, had the stranger been of the usual speechless type of tourist, content to stare deferentially at the local antiquities and to wander aimlessly round the churchyard. But he was not, as he himself admitted, within measurable distance of an ordinary man; for he joined a group of villagers, who were discussing the latest tragedy in whispers, and insisted upon introducing himself and asking questions about themselves.