We all stood round, the men looking stupid but concerned.
“Will you take me to him, please?”
“I came to fetch you.”
“Will you come too, Mr. Rank?”
“Of course.” I turned to the landlord’s wife, who had now joined us. “Can you find a shawl for Miss Gascoyne? She has no hat.”
The landlady disappeared, and returned with a white woollen shawl, which she was taking out of tissue paper.
“When was he found?” asked Miss Gascoyne, as we drove rapidly away, leaving the little group outside the public-house to discuss the matter.
“About two hours and a half ago.”
“Where?”
The doctor explained, throwing into his account as much insinuation as he could of the worst. I don’t know at what particular moment Miss Gascoyne grasped that her brother was dead, but it was apparent before we reached our destination that she had realised the truth.