said Jim placing a chair. "What is it you wish to know Miss Endicotte?"
"All about yourself and your friend, and the walking tour, and the discovery." Thus far she rattled on blithely, but then flushed, and stammered. "Please do not think me rude," she murmured, "in my present capacity I am simply a machine for the Beormister Chronicle. If you do not wish to tell me anything--"
"I have not the slightest objection," replied Jim laughing. "Do you object to my smoking? I can answer your questions better if I smoke."
"Please do," cried Miss Endicotte eagerly. "I am used to it. My brother Frank is never without a pipe in his mouth."
"Your brother and I should get on well together then," said Herrick artfully, not that he wanted to meet the brother so much as the beauty-sister of Southberry Church, "however--this interview!"
Miss Bess--as the Inspector called her, pulled out a pocket-book, and became the reporter at once. She was versed in her profession and put the shrewdest of questions. All the same she appeared to be nervous at times, and Herrick guessed that it was the innately refined woman struggling with the necessary obstrusiveness of the bread-winner. However he did his best to put her at her ease, and told his story as concisely as possible.
"My name is James Calthorpe Herrick," he said. "I am a doctor, supposed to be practising in West Kensington, London. My friend Joyce was one of my patients--is I should say. He lost his mother and fell ill--by the way you need not put that down Miss Endicotte. All you need let your readers know is, that Mr. Joyce and myself have been on a walking tour, and stumbled--as I said before, on the Pines, and the body." After which statement Herrick detailed the arrival at the lighted house, the exploration and the discovery.
Miss Endicotte put all this down, and promised to amplify it in such a manner that it would not trench upon Herrick's private affairs. Then he asked the girl about Colonel Carr. She was rather reticent on the subject.
"I do not feel that I am justified in speaking of the matter," she said shaking her head, "all I can say is that Colonel Carr was better than his reputation. From what I can gather he was murdered. Well, he expected to be--that is--" she broke off and flushed.
"He expected to be murdered!" Herrick looked keenly at her.
"Hush," said Miss Endicotte with a glance at the door. "I have no right to say that. It is a long story, and not very clear. If you remain in Saxham, if we become better acquainted, I might--how long do you stay?"
"It all depends upon my friend," replied Herrick his curiosity at fever-heat with these hints, "he is ill I am afraid. I must go up and see him now. We shall meet again I hope."
"I think so. I shall be at the inquest. And you?"
"Of course. I must give evidence. Joyce also if he is well enough. By the way Bridge mentioned some relatives of Carr's. Who are they?"
"Mrs. Marsh and her son," said the girl with some reluctance, "they live in the Bishop's Close at Beorminster. It will be a great shock to them, although they were not on good terms with the Colonel."
"Will they be at the inquest?"
"Mr. Marsh will be there but his mother is very ill. She caught cold a day or two ago, and is now in bed with a sharp attack of pneumonia."
"Troubles never come singly," said Herrick sententiously, "by the way, the suspicions of Bridge about Frisco?--"
"I am sure he is innocent," cried Miss Endicotte flushing. "Frisco was bad, but he loved the Colonel. He would not have killed him. I--I--" she suddenly shook her head, checked herself, and walked out of the room. Herrick stared. Was it possible that this charming girl knew the truth?
CHAPTER III
THE VERDICT OF THE JURY
Robin woke calmer after his rest. The nervous excitement had passed away, but the reaction had left him as weak as a child. He looked shrivelled up and pale when Herrick saw him. At once the doctor sat down to feel the little man's pulse, which was slow and faint.
"You must stay in bed to-day," ordered the doctor replacing his watch. "I shall send you up some strong soup. Sleep as much as you can, that is the best thing to pull you round."
"Should I not get up to look after this business with you?"
"There is no need. The police have taken charge of the Case. Your evidence is exactly the same as mine, so I shall represent you at the Inquest."
"Is there to be an inquest?" asked Joyce with languid interest.
"Certainly! This afternoon at the house. From what Inspector Bridge told me it would seem that Colonel Carr was shot on Tuesday night."
"Is the dead man's name Colonel Carr?"
"Yes! Wicked Colonel Carr. From all accounts he was one of the worst."
"Why did he commit suicide?"
"He did not, if Bridge is to be believed. He insists that the man was shot--perhaps by his servant, who has vanished. However we shall hear all that is to be heard this afternoon."
A colour crept into the wan cheek of Joyce. "I should like to get up and hear all about it," said he, "there might be material for a story."
"You can hear details later on. At present you must stay in bed, until we return to Town."
"What about our walking tour?"
"I have decided to cut that short," replied the doctor, "this adventure has given me a distaste for the trip. In a day or so, when you are rested we will return to London. My practice is small but I must attend to it."
"And what about me Jim?"
"Well!" reflected Herrick, "you are now well enough off not to make work an imperative necessity. I think you should go abroad for a time, and do nothing, until you are quite yourself. Explore Italy or Spain, and don't do a stroke of work. Change of scene and company will make you your old self again in a short time."
"Never, never!" moaned Joyce. "I shall never get over her death."
"Nonsense! Don't give way Robin. You must be a man--"
"It was so sudden," pleaded Robin piteously.
"I know. Didn't I attend her! But apoplexy always ends suddenly. Your mother was a stout woman and took no exercise. That fit might have been expected; I warned her often. You know I am sorry for your loss Robin; but sorrow will not bring back the dead. You have your part to play in the world, so you must put this grief behind you. If I talk a little brutally, you must excuse me. To a man of your temperament, sympathy is the worst thing possible."
In Herrick's hands Joyce was more or less of a child, so he submitted--rather against his will--to remain in bed, while his friend went forth to hear the news. As might have been guessed Robin employed his solitude in gloating over his sorrow. This weakness he did not dare to reveal to Jim, fearing lest he should be lectured again. Still, he could not but acknowledge to himself that Herrick's advice was sensible.
Meantime the doctor made a tour of the village. The villagers, swarming like bees in the excitement of the moment, recognised a stranger, and guessed that this was one of the two gentlemen said to have discovered the body. Hence Herrick found himself the subject of considerable curiosity, but was not molested or accosted in any way, until he met with a clergyman. This was on the outskirts of the village, where a gorse-covered common stretched up to the pine wood surrounding the house of Colonel Carr. The parson seemed to have been wandering on the waste land, for he appeared suddenly at Herrick's elbow like a ghost. Probably he had seen the stranger coming and had just stepped out from behind a bush.
"You are Dr. Herrick?" he asked nervously.
Jim signified that he was. "I am, addressing the vicar?" he hazarded.
"The rector," corrected the other. "I am Mr. Pentland Corn. You will excuse my breaking in on your