“Quite so, quite so,” interrupted Harley, endeavouring to hide a smile. “I understand your feelings, Sir Howard, but again I ask you to reserve your verdict until all the facts are before us.”
As a result, Harley and I presently set out for the gamekeeper's cottage, and as the man had been warned that we should visit him, he was on the porch smoking his pipe. A big, dark, ugly fellow he proved to be, of a very forbidding cast of countenance. Having introduced ourselves:
“I always knowed she'd come to a bad end!” declared Gamekeeper Bramber, almost echoing Sir Howard's words. “One o' these gentlemen o' hers was sure to be the finish of her!”
“She had other admirers—before Captain Vane?”
“Aye! the hussy! There was a black-faced villain not six months since! He got t' vain cat to go to London an' have her photograph done in a dress any decent woman would 'a' blushed to look at! Like one o' these Venuses up at t' Manor! Good riddance! She took after her mother!”
The violent old ruffian was awkward to examine, but Harley persevered.
“This previous admirer caused her to be photographed in that way, did he? Have you a copy?”
“No!” blazed Bramber. “What I found I burnt! He ran off, like I told her he would—an' her cryin' her eyes out! But the pretty soger dried her tears quick enough!”
“Do you know this man's name?”
“No. A foreigner, he was.”