There he found him, kneeling by the side of that one little mound of earth, after having walked in solitude through the long hours till the gates were opened for the day's digging of graves. Winter said nothing. He led his friend away, and had him cared for.
Slowly the cloud lifted. At last, when a heedless public had forgotten the crime and its dramatic sequel, there came a day when Furneaux appeared at Scotland Yard.
"Hello, Winter," he said, coming in as though the world had grown young again.
"Hello, Furneaux, glad to see you," said Winter, pushing the cigar-box across the table.
"Had my letter?"
"Yes."
"Who has taken my place—Clarke?"
"No, not Clarke."
"Who, then?"
"Nobody, yet. The fact is, Furneaux——"