“Why don’t you suggest it?”
“I have, to Salt. However, the Superintendent doesn’t want our group to be dissolved for a few days yet. I’d have Maryvale out of here in a jiffy, though, if I felt his mental condition were critical, not simply fluctuating, for there’s not the remotest possibility of his being implicated in Cosgrove’s death.”
“Let me see, where was he, just?”
“Sitting with me on the steps of the summer-house the whole time during which the murder could have happened. But if he is shielded from any further mental concussion, I suppose there’s no harm in his staying on here a while longer. Besides, you know, he will have it that the Parson is dead.”
In the thickening gloom I could make out no expression on the face of the man keeping step beside me. I spoke cautiously.
“I take it, then, Doctor, that you don’t think Maryvale may have a hand in the manifestations of the Parson?”
He laughed. “Rather not! How could he?”
“I wish I could tell you. But in any case I suppose—I devoutly hope, anyhow—that the manifestations are over, and the explanations will be in order henceforth.”
“I second you willingly.”
We went on. I stumbled against a stone in the roadway. “Doctor, you’ve heard about the man I encountered the night I came here; I mean the one with the umbrella.”