Furneaux choked with excitement.
“A horsey-looking chap, on to-day’s jury,” he gurgled.
“That’s him!”
“The scoundrel!”
“No wonder he looked ill.”
“No wonder, indeed. How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds makes ill deeds done!”
“But, sir—”
Robinson was flabbergasted. He could only murmur “Fred Elkin!” in a dazed way.
“Have a drink,” said Furneaux sympathetically. “I’ll wet my whistle, too. Only half a glass, please. Now, we mustn’t jump to conclusions. This Elkin looks a villain, but may not be one. That is to say, his villainy may be confined to dealings in nags. But you see, Robinson, what a queer turn this affair is taking. We must get rid of preconceived notions. Superintendent Fowler and you and I will go into this matter thoroughly to-morrow. Meanwhile, breathe not a syllable to a living soul. If I were you, I’d let Mr. Grant understand that we regard him as rather outside the scope of our inquiry. This beer is very good for a country village. You know a good thing when you see it, I expect. Pity I don’t smoke, or I’d join you in a pipe. I must get a move on, now, or that fat landlord will be locking me out. Good night! Yes. I’ll take the hat. Good night!”
While walking up the hill Furneaux fanned himself with the straw hat.