“Very sad, indeed,” I said. “The blow must nearly have broken Miss Asta’s heart.”
“Ah! It did, sir. At first I thought the poor child would have gone out of her mind. She was so devoted to him. Mr Shaw was also very fond of him, I know, for I once heard him say that he was the only man he would choose as Miss Asta’s husband.”
“When did he say that?”
“He was sitting in the smoking-room with a friend of his—one of the justices—Sir Gilbert Campbell, one evening after dinner, about a fortnight before the poor young gentleman died. I happened to be; passing and overheard his words.”
I pondered for a moment. Either Shaw was a past-master in the art of preparing a coup, or else Guy’s surmises were wrong. Here, in the intimacy of the family, it was declared that Shaw was devoted to Asta. Certainly my own observations went to confirm that supposition.
“I wonder who knows Mr Shaw’s whereabouts?” I said presently. “I want to communicate with him upon a very important matter.”
“Well, sir, it’s very funny that he hasn’t written to me. He’s never been silent so long before.”
“How long have you been with him?”
“Oh, about three years now, sir.”
Then together we descended the broad oak staircase, and I went forth into the beautiful gardens chatting with the old white-bearded head-gardener, and going through the grape and peach houses, all of which were most perfectly kept.