Newbury looked up. It was astonishing what a mask he could make of his face, normally so charged—over-charged—with expression.
"What else could it have been? But this is no time or place for us to discuss our differences, Coryston—"
"Why not!" cried Coryston, who had turned a dead white. "'Our differences,' as you call them, have led to that!" He turned and flung out a thin arm toward the annex to the laboratory, where the bodies were lying. "It is time, I think, that reasonable men should come to some understanding about 'differences' that can slay and madden a pair of poor hunted souls, as these have been slain!"
"'Hunted?' What do you mean?" said Newbury, sternly, while his dark eyes took fire.
"Hunted by the Christian conscience!—that it might lie comfortable o' nights," was the scornful reply.
Newbury said nothing for a few moments. They emerged on the main road, crossed it, and entered the Hoddon Grey park. Here they were alone, out of sight of the crowd returning from the inquest to the neighboring village. As they stepped into one of the green rides of the park they perceived a motorcar descending the private road which crossed it a hundred yards away. A man was driving it at a furious pace, and Coryston clearly recognized his brother Arthur. He was driving toward Coryston. Up to the moment when the news of the farm tragedy had reached him that morning, Coryston's mind had been very full of what seemed to him the impending storm between his mother and Arthur. Since then he had never thought of it, and the sight of his brother rushing past, making for Coryston, no doubt, from some unknown point, excited but a moment's recollection, lost at once in the emotion which held him.
Newbury struck in, however, before he could express it further; in the same dry and carefully governed voice as before.
"You are Marcia's brother, Coryston. Yesterday morning she and I were still engaged to be married. Yesterday afternoon we broke it off—although—since then—I have received two letters from her—"
He paused a moment, but soon resumed, with fresh composure.
"Those letters I shall answer to-night. By that time—perhaps—I shall know better—what my future life will be."