She retired to some sanctum at the rear of the bar, and I drank my beer amid one of those silences which sometimes descend upon such a gathering when a stranger appears in its midst. Not until I moved to depart was this silence broken, then:
“Ah, well,” said an old fellow, evidently a farm-hand, “we know now why he was priming of hisself with the drink, we do.”
“Aye!” came a growling chorus.
I came out of the Lavender Arms full of a knowledge that so far as Mid-Hatton was concerned, Colin Camber was already found guilty.
I had hoped to see something of Val Beverley on my return, but she remained closeted with Madame de Stämer, and I was left in loneliness to pursue my own reflections, and to perfect that theory which had presented itself to my mind.
In Harley’s absence I had taken it upon myself to give an order to Pedro to the effect that no reporters were to be admitted; and in this I had done well. So quickly does evil news fly that, between mid-day and the hour of Harley’s return, no fewer than five reporters, I believe, presented themselves at Cray’s Folly. Some of the more persistent continued to haunt the neighbourhood, and I had withdrawn to the deserted library, in order to avoid observation, when I heard a car draw up in the courtyard, and a moment later heard Harley asking for me.
I hurried out to meet him, and as I appeared at the door of the library:
“Hullo, Knox,” he called, running up the steps. “Any developments?”
“No actual development?” I replied, “except that several members of the Press have been here.”
“You told them nothing?” he asked, eagerly.