"You will release Mr. Benham."
De Rothan turned on him sharply.
"Pardon me—am I so soft a fool! I am not a man who turns back, or who shirks the holding of an advantage. I have some respect for my own neck, though I no longer look to you to respect it."
Durrell nodded solemnly.
"No good can come of it. As for this house——"
"Shut the door on me quickly. Lock me out in a great hurry, Mr. Durrell. I will wish you good morning."
He marched off across the grass, swaggering with stiff shoulders, and smiling a queer, sidelong smile up at Nance's window. David Barfoot was holding his horse in the yard. De Rothan glanced at him as though there were some sudden significance in the thought that the man was deaf.
"Do you sleep well in summer, Mr. David?"
Barfoot stared back at him and said nothing.
In the lane, close to the yew-tree where Jasper had been shot, De Rothan came right upon Nance and Jeremy Winter. They were climbing the hill side by side, Jeremy leading his horse by the bridle. The meeting roused a quick crackle of complex enmities. De Rothan stiffened in the saddle, and raised his hat to Nance.