“My dear, just let us understand how the land lies,” said he, putting his hand on Ellin’s shoulder. “Do you say that William Brook reached Worcester yesterday on his return, and that St. George drove him home here at night?”
“Yes,” replied Ellin. “Why should you doubt it? It is true.”
“Well, we thought St. George did drive him home,” was the Squire’s answer, staring into her face; “we passed his gig in Dip Lane and thought that it was Brook that he had with him. But St. George denies this. He says it was not Brook; that he has not seen Brook, does not know he has come home; he says the man he had with him was a stranger, to whom he was giving a lift.”
Ellin looked grave for a moment; then the smiles broke out again.
“St. George must have been joking,” she cried; “he cannot mean it. He happened to be at Worcester Station yesterday when Mr. Brook arrived by the Birmingham train: we suppose he then offered to drive him home. Any way, he did do it.”
“But St. George denied that he did, Ellin,” I said.
“He will not deny it to me, Johnny. Gregory West, returning from a visit to some client at Spetchley, met them in the gig together.”
The Squire listened as a man dazed. “I can’t make head or tail of it,” cried he. “What does St. George mean by denying that he brought Brook? And where is Brook?”
“Has no one seen him?” questioned Ellin.
“Not a soul, apparently. Ellin, my girl,” added the Squire, “we will walk back with you to your father’s, and get this cleared up. Come along, boys.”