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He used to carry it in an inner pocket. Empty, do you say? no papers?" "Not a scrap of anything," answered the policeman, handing the book over to his sergeant, and proceeding to search further. "We'd best to see if there's any footprints about." "You'd better examine that path, then," said Garthwaite.
Out with it!" "And I should say, murdered!" said Garthwaite. "I yes, I just saw enough to say that. Murdered without a doubt!" Brereton, standing back in the room, the cigar which Cotherstone had just given him unlighted in one hand, the glass which Lettie had presented to him in the other, was keenly watching the man who had just spoken and the man to whom he spoke.
He had certainly been shocked when Garthwaite burst in with the news but this shock did not seem to be of the ordinary sort. To put the whole thing into a narrow compass, it seemed as if Cotherstone appeared to be positively pleased to hear and to find beyond doubt that Kitely was dead.
Garthwaite, who was as ardent an angler in his way as Izaak Walton himself, was not to be appeased even by the best of excuses. "It is never too late to learn," cried he. "I will make a fisherman of you in no time, if you will only attend to my directions." It was impossible for me to make any more apologies, without the risk of appealing discourteous.
Garthwaite, who smiled with an air of comic resignation, and said, "Very well, then, we have nothing for it but to wait till to-morrow. What do you say to a morning's fishing, Mr. Kerby, now that my bull's bad temper has given us a holiday?" I replied, with perfect truth, that I knew nothing about fishing. But Mr.
His whole behaviour suggested pre-occupation, occasional absent-mindedness: once or twice he obviously did not hear the remarks which were addressed to him. He had certainly betrayed some curious sort of confusion when Kitely's name was mentioned. And he had manifested great astonishment, been much upset, when Garthwaite came in with the news of Kitely's death.
The beast was appropriately named "Thunder and Lightning," and was the property of a gentleman-farmer named Garthwaite, a distant connection of my wife's family. How it was that I escaped being gored to death before I had finished my picture is more than I can explain to this day.
Now that I know what's to be faced " he twisted suddenly on Garthwaite "what makes you think it's murder?" he demanded. "Murder! That's a big word." Garthwaite glanced at Lettie, who was whispering to Bent, and shook his head. "Tell you when we get outside," he said. "I don't want to frighten your daughter." "Come on, then," said Cotherstone. He hurried into the hall and snatched up an overcoat.
Garthwaite and she met each other almost like brother and sister; it was plain that the friendly intimacy between them had been of very long duration. Our visit was a short one. The conversation never advanced beyond the commonplace topics suited to the occasion. It was, therefore, from what I saw, and not from what I heard, that I was enabled to form my judgment of Miss Welwyn.
Garthwaite, "with an extraordinary story, which relates to a family once settled in an old house in this neighborhood. Her name is Miss Welwyn; but she is less formally known an among the poor people about here, who love her dearly, and honor her almost superstitiously, as the Lady of Glenwith Grange. Wait till you have seen her before you ask me to say anything more.
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