“Ah, a very good idea, sir,” was the man’s approving response. “I thought of doing so myself, only they’re beginning to cut my bit o’ wheat in the mill-field this morning and I have to go into Thrapston about the machine. I’ll be back in an hour.”
He was preparing to re-mount, when I stopped him, saying—
“Look here, Warr. You recollect that stranger who called and left the note for Lady Lolita last evening? Well, there seems considerable mystery about the affair, and somehow I feel there’s connexion with the fellow’s visit with this poor young man’s death. If so, her ladyship’s name must be rigorously kept out of it, you understand. There’s to be an inquest to-morrow, and we shall both be called to give evidence. Recollect that not a word is said about the man Keene, the note, or the message.”
“If you wish it, sir, I’ll keep a still tongue,” was his reply. “I’ve told nobody up to now—not even the missus.”
“Very well. Remember only you and I know of this man’s return, and the knowledge must go no further. There’s a mystery, but it must have no connexion with her ladyship.”
“You may trust me, sir. The family have been too good to me all these years for me not to try and render them a service. I quite agree with you that the stranger was suspicious, and from what he said to me in private it is certain that he must know her ladyship very well indeed.”
“You’re sure you’ve never seen that young man before?” I asked, watching his face narrowly.
“Him? No, I don’t know him from Adam!” was the landlord’s reply, yet uttered in a manner and tone that aroused my distinct suspicions. His assurance was just a trifle too emphatic, I thought.
I paused a moment, half inclined to express my doubt openly, then said at last—
“That letter—what shall you do with it?”