They arrived at The Lindens. A knot of idlers were standing at the gates discussing the straws of information that floated among them. A policeman on duty marched slowly round the drive, his footprints indistinguishable from countless others that had broken up the thin and melting coat of snow. On the steps stood an Inspector in talk with a couple of pressmen, who were taking notes with red, cold fingers.
The Inspector touched his cap as Hugh came up.
“A shocking affair, sir. If you will go in I will see you in a moment.”
Hugh entered, went up to the fireplace in the hall and warmed his hands, wondering at the force of routine which had caused this fire to be lit on a morning of such upheaval. The slight sound of an opening door made him turn, and then he saw Minna’s pale and haggard face. She beckoned to him hurriedly and disappeared into the dining-room. He followed her, shutting the door behind him. The sight of the room brought a fresh shock of associations. Was there ever such a ghastly morrow to a feast?
Minna stood by the table, one hand behind her resting upon it, her eyes meeting his in dull defiance. She checked brusquely his first half-articulated exclamation of sympathy.
“Yes. I know all that you can tell me. We can’t waste time over it. Have you spoken to the Inspector?”
“Not yet.”
“Thank God I’ve seen you first. This does not interfere with our compact. You won’t say a word about seeing me last night?”
“Certainly not,” he replied, turning away from her with a feeling of repugnance. “As far as your father is concerned, I left this house at half-past eleven.” She closed her eyes with a sigh of relief.
“I was afraid you might betray me—not wilfully—but indiscreetly.”