By this time the snow had ceased falling, and the air was a little clearer. With little difficulty, Santley found the avenue, and, running rather than walking, followed it till he reached the lodge.
As he did so, he heard voices singing in merry chorus. He waited, and presently a light cart drove up, turning into the avenue. He called out, and it stopped. He came close, and found that it contained five persons, two men-and three women.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “Where are you going?”
Mrs. Feme, the lodge-keeper, who was one of the party, informed him that they were Mr. Haldane’s servants, returning from their holiday excursion to the neighbouring town.
“Go up to the house at once!” he cried. “Seize your master, detain him till I return. Your mistress has been murdered!”
They cried out in terror and astonishment, asking for particulars.
“I cannot stay,” he answered wildly.
“Go on, and watch till I return. It is as I say; he has murdered your mistress. I am going for the police.”
Then he fled on in the direction of the village. But as he went, his pace seemed to fail him, and his head to go round and round.
At last he reached the village, where all was dark and desolate, and, passing by the shadow of his own church, reached the Vicarage gate. Here he paused, almost spent. He could not go any further. He would go in and get a little brandy, then he would hasten on for assistance.