"I dare say she can," was the officer's reply. "It seems a curious thing altogether—that two gentlemen should be visiting at a house, and one should shoot the other. How long had they been staying here?"
"Let's see," said Mr. Barley, rubbing his forefinger upon his forehead. "It must be a month, I fancy, sir, since they came. Heneage was here first: some days before Philip."
"Were they acquainted previously?"
"I—think—not," said Mr. Barley, speaking with hesitation. "Heneage was here on a short visit in the middle of the summer, but not Philip: whereas Philip was here at Easter, and the other was not. No, sir, I believe they were not acquainted before, but my brother can tell you."
"Who is this Mr. Heneage?"
"Don't you know? He is the son of the member for Wexborough. Oh, he is of very good family—very. A sad blow it will be for them, if things turn out as black as they look. Will he get clear off, think you?"
"You may depend upon it, he would not have got off far, but for this confounded fog that has come on," warmly replied the police-officer. "We shall have him to-morrow, no doubt."
"I never hardly saw such a fog at this time of year," observed Mr. Barley. "I couldn't see a yard before me as I came along. Upon my word, it almost seems as if it had come on purpose to screen him."
"Was he a pleasant man, this Heneage?"
"One of the nicest fellows you ever met, sir," was Mr. Barley's impulsive reply. "The last week or two Edwin seems to have taken some spite against him; I don't know what was up between them, for my part: but I liked Heneage, what I saw of him, and thought him an uncommon good fellow. Mrs. Edwin Barley has known him a long while; my brother only recently. They all met in London last spring."