“How did you leave the greenhouse last night?”
“Exactly as I always leave it, sir. There was nothing the matter with it then. Drew—I saw him outside, didn’t I? Step here, Drew. You were with me when I locked up the greenhouse last night. Did you see anything wrong with it?”
“It were right enough then,” answered Drew.
Monk turned himself about, lifting his hands in dismay, as one blackened object after another came under view. “I never saw such a thing!” he cried piteously. “There has been something wrong at work here; or else——”
Monk came to a sudden pause. “Or else what?” asked the Squire.
“Or else, moving the plants into the hall on Tuesday has killed them.”
“Moving the plants wouldn’t kill them. What are you thinking of, Monk?”
“Moving them would not kill them, sir, or hurt them either,” returned Monk, with a stress on the first word; “but it might have been the remote cause of it.”
“I don’t understand you!”