“In our garden! Has there been any search? Have you done anything to secure the man? Can anyone identify him? What are you standing there for,” cried Gussy, “doing nothing, if that wretch is within reach? Policeman——”
“I’m a-looking after the murdered man, miss,” said the policeman. “I did sound my rattle, and there’s two of my mates about. I shouldn’t say but it might be a good chance to search the garden, unless they’ve got him outside.”
“Go then, go, for heaven’s sake, and do it,” cried Gussy. “He may have escaped by this time. Mr. Meredith’s friends will give a reward. I myself—” she suddenly faltered and grew pale, leaning back upon Janet for support. “Go, go,” she cried, faintly, “go and find the murderer.”
Janet had to put her arms round her to support her. Oh, what things were beating in the breast that afforded that support. The murderer! was not she too the murderer? she, whom no one would recognize, who would never be punished, save by the consciousness which would be her inheritance forever. Horror and trouble, and the dreadful fear of betraying herself, of being mixed up in it, kept Janet upright as if in a frame of iron. The murderer! Oh, heaven! if they should find him, and if he should point her out and let all the world know how deeply she was mixed up in it! She supported Gussy, yet clung to her, looking with eyes of anguish at the policeman who got out his lantern and prepared to go.
“I think Mr. Harwood is in the garden,” she said, “he was—walking there—a little while ago.”
“Dolff!” said Gussy, recovering herself; then she added, “I hear my brother is in the garden; he will help you. Oh, do not lose any more time; go! go!”
Was it to save Dolff that Janet said this, or to betray him? Oh, not to betray him certainly, for that would be to betray herself. It seemed to her that the sight of him would kill her; yet could she but warn him by a word—only a word! If he had the presence of mind to be calm, to make that rabble understand that he was the son of the house.
Her heart sank within her as they trooped out into the dark garden; the policeman with his lantern, a few of the boldest of the men following him, the rest hanging about in the front of the house talking over this wonderful adventure, which was so terrible, an unthinking, unoffending man struck down in a moment; but a godsend to all the idle loiterers who spring out of the earth whenever such an excitement is to be had.
The hall was cleared of all the intruders that pushed into it; the servants who had been hanging about retired; Gussy went into the drawing-room to carry the dreadful news to her mother: and Janet, who could not rest, to whom some outlet for her overwhelming excitement was necessary, went out into the porch, and, raising her voice, told the spectators to go away.
“Don’t you see that the noise you make will do harm?” she cried. “It may hurt the—the poor gentleman who is—so ill. It will warn the—the man who did it if he should be here. Oh, go away, go away, for God’s sake. What do you want here? Go away! oh, go away!”