"This is where he stood," said Jessie, looking round, and then she ran suddenly across to the narrow path on the other side. "And some one else stood here—here—just at the end of the bridge. There are marks of other feet here."
"Those of the men who came to look for him," said Christabel.
"Yes; that makes it difficult to tell. There are the traces of many feet. Yet I know," she muttered, with clenched teeth, "that some one stood here—just here—and shot him. They were standing face to face. See!"—she stepped the bridge with light swift feet—"so! at ten paces. Don't you see?"
Christabel looked at her with a white scared face, remembering her husband's strange manner the night before last, and those parting words at Mr. Hamleigh's bedroom door. "You understand my plan?" "Perfectly." "It saves all trouble, don't you see." Those few words had impressed themselves upon her memory—insignificant as they were—because of something in the tone in which they were spoken—something in the manner of the two men.
"You mean," she said slowly, with her hand clenching the rail of the bridge, seeking unconsciously for support; "you mean that Angus and my husband met here by appointment, and fought a duel?"
"That is my reading of the mystery."
"Here in this lonely place—without witnesses—my husband murdered him!"
"They would not count it murder. Fate might have been the other way. Your husband might have been killed."
"No!" cried Christabel, passionately; "Angus would not have killed him. That would have been too deep a dishonour!"
She stood silent for a few moments, white as death, looking round her with wide, despairing eyes.