“Oh, yes: glad you did. We’ve met, haven’t we, Doctor? Gad, you look war-shot, both of you. Is the storm so bad?”
“We’ve tramped it from beyond the bridge or thereabouts.”
“Tramped it!”
“Half the bridge was down, Mr. Pendleton. We were forced to leave the car on t’other side and make a dash over afoot. The way it looked, Mr. Pendleton, with the water risin’ so, I doubt you’ve any bridge at all there by now. The stream’s fair ragin’. And you say there’s been a killin’ here or something? A guest of yours, maybe? Shockin’.”
“What a day!” cried Crofts fervently. “This way, gentlemen.” But in the midst of the portrait-corridor, he paused. “This is murder, and a damned mysterious murder. There’s been a landslide up the Vale, and that path must be blocked. Did you pass anyone going south as you came along?”
Peggotty, or perhaps I had better let his name go as Salt, responded, “We did not, and we have a witness who was by the bridge since before five o’clock to show that nobody had been across either way.”
“What kind of a witness?”
“Reliable. The Coroner and I have known him for these a-many years.” From aloft Doctor Niblett nodded grave agreement. “Road-mender, he is. Shelterin’ under a tree from the rain. Had been at work just beyond the bridge, so he couldn’t have missed seein’.”
Elation seemed to make a dark glow in Pendleton’s soul. “Then he’s trapped, the dog! That is, if you—did you tell this witness to watch—?”
“I think,” said Superintendent Salt, “that we might be havin’ a look at the body.”