"Perhaps it is just as well," Kelson remarked to his friend. "Although it is absolutely unthinkable that Muriel could have had anything to do with the affair, yet one can quite appreciate her wish to wait till perhaps something crops up to give us the explanation beyond all question. It is rather a blow to me, and I hope if the mysterious Mr. Gervase Henshaw is really on the track of the crime he will produce his solution without much more delay. For a girl like Muriel to have even the faintest suspicion hanging over her is simply hateful."
Meanwhile the mysterious Mr. Henshaw seemed in no hurry to make known his theory, if he had one. Yet he still remained in Branchester, writing all the morning and going out in the afternoon, usually with a handful of letters for post. He always nodded affably to Gifford when they met, but beyond a casual remark on the weather or the events of the day, showed no disposition to chat.
But now while Gifford was in this unsatisfactory state of mind, persevering yet baffled in what he had undertaken to do, a very singular thing came to pass. He strolled out one afternoon, aimlessly, wondering whether the negative result of his efforts justified his remaining in the place, and yet loath to leave it, held there as he was by the attraction of Edith Morriston. He felt he could be making but little way in her favour seeing how he was failing in what he had undertaken to do for her, and as he walked he discussed with himself whether it would not be possible to hit on some more active plan of becoming acquainted with Henshaw's knowledge and intentions. It was obviously a delicate business, and after all, he thought, now that the man's undesirable presence had practically ceased to be an annoyance to the Morristons there scarcely seemed any need to bother about him. On the other hand, however, there was a certain strong curiosity on his own part to know Henshaw's design and what kept him in the town.
Gifford's walk took him over well remembered ground. He was strolling along a path which led through the Wynford property, over a rustic bridge across a stream he had often fished when a boy, and so on into a wood which formed one of the home coverts. Making his way through this familiar haunt of by-gone days he came to one of the long rides which bisected the wood for some quarter of a mile. He turned into this and was just looking out for a comfortable trunk where he might sit and smoke, when he caught sight of two figures in the distance ahead walking slowly just on the fringe of the ride. A man and a woman; their backs were towards him, but his blood gave a leap at the sight as their identity flashed upon him. It was, in its unexpectedness, an almost appalling sight to him, as he realised that the two were none other than Henshaw and Edith Morriston.
CHAPTER XIV
GIFFORD'S PERPLEXITY
Next moment Gifford had instinctively sprung back into the covert of the trees, almost dazed by what he had seen. Henshaw and Edith Morriston! Could it be possible? His eyes must have deceived him. About the girl there could be no doubt. Her tall, graceful figure was unmistakable. But the man. Surely he had been mistaken there; it must have been her brother, or perhaps a friend who had been lunching with them. Had Gifford, his mind obsessed by Henshaw, jumped to a false conclusion? He stooped, and creeping warily beyond the fringe of trees looked after the pair.
They were now some thirty yards away. There could be no doubt that the lady was Edith Morriston; and the man? Incredible as it might seem, he was surely Gervase Henshaw. Gifford had seen him some two hours earlier, and now recognized his grey suit and dark felt hat. He stayed, crouched down, looking after the amazing pair, seeking a sign that the man was not Henshaw. After all, it was, he told himself, more likely that he had made a mistake than that Miss Morriston could be strolling in confidential talk (for such seemed the case) with that fellow. It was too astounding for belief.
They had stopped now, at the end of the ride; the man talking earnestly, it seemed; Miss Morriston standing with head bent down and scoring the grass with her walking-stick as though in doubt or consideration. Would they turn and put the man's identity beyond uncertainty?
Gifford had not long to wait. Miss Morriston seemed to draw off and began to walk back down the ride; her companion turned and promptly put himself by her side. There was no doubt now as to who he was. Gervase Henshaw.