“Speak out, lad. What have you on your mind?”
“St. George said, you know, that he stopped the gig in Dip Lane at the turning which would lead to Evesham, for Brook—I mean the traveller—to get out. But I thought I heard it stop before that. I was almost sure of it.”
“Stop where?”
“Just about opposite the gap in the hedge; hardly even quite as far as that. We had not reached the turning to Evesham ourselves when I heard this. The gig seemed to come to a sudden standstill. I said so to Tod at the time.”
“Well?”
“Why should he have stopped just at the gap?”
“How can I tell, lad?”
“I suppose he could not have damaged Brook? Struck him a blow to stun him—or—or anything of that?”
“And if he had? If he (let us put it so) killed him, Johnny, what did he do with—what was left of him? What could he do with it?”
Darbyshire paused in his smoking. I played unconsciously with the jar. He was looking at me, waiting to be answered.