Returning toward Aidenn Water at a point somewhat further north, we heard from beyond a gnarl of blackberry bushes the sound of footsteps and voices which proved to be those of Salt, wearing rubber boots, and of Hughes the keeper. They were making their way up the stream by the principal path, and I noticed that Hughes bore an axe of considerable heft.
Salt greeted us while we fell into step. “Sensible to get out of doors.”
“But you’re not here for your health, I fancy,” said Aire.
“I am not. Mr. Hughes here and I are going to devote the last hour of daylight to satisfyin’ ourselves about traces of the assassin on the other side of the Vale. We’ve scoured north, south, east, and west on this side of the stream, and never a footprint of him or anybody else. Mr. Pendleton seemed a bit anxious we shouldn’t overlook the chance, and it is a chance.”
“What is that axe for?” suddenly demanded Maryvale.
“To chop down a tree, sir,” answered Hughes. “I know where I can make one fall across the Water. It’s the only way to get over.”
“I thought as much,” I said. “What, just, is the state of things down at the bridge?”
“There isn’t a trace of it left, sir,” Salt informed me. “Sometime last night the stone ends were undermined by the current. There are men on the other side, though, riggin’ up a makeshift, and to-morrow, maybe, if the stream goes down reasonably, we can get out of here, and get Mr. Cosgrove’s body out, too.”
Hughes pointed to the north, where the zigzag path down the mountain had been obliterated by the landslip. “Men from Penybont beyond the Forest are coming from the other side to clear that up to-morrow, too.”
“Well, someone must have been moving heaven and earth!”