“Miss Halliday’s getting ready to flit, sir.”
“Are you sure?”
“She’s been packing up for the last hour, sir.”
“And intends to leave poor Mr. Eliot alone! How dreadful!”
“Would you mind going for Sam Parsons, Mr. Ferguson?”
The lawyer gave a start. Parsons was the village constable.
“Parsons! Dear me; do you think he’s needed, Toby?”
“Better have everything ship-shape, sir.”
The judge reflected. Had he a right to arrest Elaine? She was merely a servant, after all, and it was not a felony to throw up such a position. But, there was the money—that secret hoard which she had claimed as her own and hidden away in the tomb. She had claimed to own the property, as well, yet was voluntarily preparing to leave it—a circumstance which led the shrewd lawyer to suspect that she knew her claim to be illegal. Had she, then, any better right to the money, the bonds and papers? Judge Ferguson decided he would get the constable.
“There is no time to be lost, sir,” suggested Toby Clark, uneasily.