"A horrible accident," said Leonard. "There'll be an inquest, of course. Will Blake give the coroner notice—or must I?"
"Dr. Blake said he'd see to that, Sir."
"And he is lying at the farm——"
"Yes, Sir. We thought it was best to take the body there—rather than to bring it home. It would have been such a shock for my mistress—and the other ladies. Dr. Blake said the inquest would be held at the inn at Trevena."
"Well," said Leonard, with a shrug and a sigh, "it's an awful business, that's all that can be said about it. Lucky he has no wife or children—no near relations to feel the blow. All we can do is to show our respect for him, now he is gone. The body had better be brought home here, after the inquest. It will look more respectful for him to be buried from this house. Mrs. Tregonell's mind can be prepared by that time."
"It is prepared already," said a low voice out of the shadow. "I have heard all."
"Very sad, isn't it?" replied Leonard; "one of those unlucky accidents which occur every shooting season. He was always a little awkward with a gun—never handled one like a thoroughbred sportsman."
"Why did he go out shooting on the last morning of his visit?" asked Christabel. "It was you who urged him to do it—you who planned the whole thing."
"I! What nonsense you are talking. I told him there were plenty of birds about the Kieve—just as I told the other fellows. That will do, Nicholls. You did all that could be done. Go and get your dinner, but first send a mounted groom to Trevena to ask Blake to come over here."
Nicholls bowed and retired, shutting the door behind him.