An instant later, his feet were on my shoulders, but he was hardly up before he was down again.
“Come, my friend,” said he, “our day's work has been quite long enough. I think that we have gathered all that we can. It's a long walk to the school, and the sooner we get started the better.”
He hardly opened his lips during that weary trudge across the moor, nor would he enter the school when he reached it, but went on to Mackleton Station, whence he could send some telegrams. Late at night I heard him consoling Dr. Huxtable, prostrated by the tragedy of his master's death, and later still he entered my room as alert and vigorous as he had been when he started in the morning. “All goes well, my friend,” said he. “I promise that before to-morrow evening we shall have reached the solution of the mystery.”
At eleven o'clock next morning my friend and I were walk-
ing up the famous yew avenue of Holdernesse Hall. We were
ushered through the magnificent Elizabethan doorway and
into his Grace's study. There we found Mr. James Wilder,
demure and courtly, but with some trace of that wild terror
of the night before still lurking in his furtive eyes and in his
twitching features.
“You have come to see his Grace ? I am sorry, but the fact is that the Duke is far from well. He has been very much upset by the tragic news. We received a telegram from Dr. Huxtable yesterday afternoon, which told us of your discovery.” “I must see the Duke, Mr. Wilder.”
“But he is in his room.”
“Then I must go to his room.”
“I believe he is in his bed.”
