“And I don’t want to say more until I know for certain. May I ring for Toft?” She nodded. He rang, and after a pause, during which he stood, silent and waiting, the servant came in. He shot a swift glance at them, and dropped his eyes.
“Tell Petch and the other man to be ready to start with us in five minutes,” Basset said. “Let them fetch a hurdle, and do you put a mattress on it. I suppose—you made sure he was dead, Toft, before you left him?”
The man flinched before the sudden question, but he showed less emotion than Mary. Perhaps he had expected it. After a pause, during which Basset did not take his eyes from him, “I made sure,” he said in a low voice. “As God sees me, I did! But if you think I raised a hand to him——”
“I don’t!” Basset said sternly. “I don’t think so badly of you as that. But nothing but frankness can save you now. Is he in the Great House?”
Toft opened his mouth, but he seemed unable to speak. He nodded.
“What about the flask?”
“I dropped it,” the man muttered. He turned a shade paler. “I could not bear to think he was lying there. I thought it would lead the search—that way, and they would find him.”
“I see. That’s enough now. Be ready to start at once.”
The man went out. “Good heavens!” Mary cried. She was horror-stricken. “And he has known it all this time! Do you think that he—he had any part——”
“Oh no. He was alone with Mr. Audley when he collapsed, and he lost his head. They were together in the Great House—it was a difficult position—and he did not see his way to explain. He may have seen some advantage in gaining time—I don’t know. The first thing to be done is to bring your uncle home. I will see to that. You have borne up nobly—you have done your part. Do you go to bed now.”