Sir James stepped up at once and took him by the arm.
“Nick,” he said, and glanced at the staring grooms.
Nicholas showed his teeth like a dog.
“God damn them!” he said again.
The other rider had come up by now; he was dusty and seemed spent. He was a stranger to the father and son who waited on the steps; but he looked like a groom, and slipped off his horse deftly and took Sir Nicholas’s bridle.
“Come in Nick,” said Sir James. “We can talk in the house.”
As the three went up together, with the strange rider at a respectful distance behind, Nicholas broke out again in one sentence.
“They have done it,” he said, “he is dead. Mother of God!”
His whip twitched in his clenching hand. He turned and jerked his head beckoningly to the man who followed; and the four went on together, through the hall and into Sir James’s parlour. Sir James shut the door.
“Tell us, Nick.”