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Updated: May 31, 2025
Gifford's walk took him over well remembered ground. He was strolling along a path which led through the Wynford property, over a rustic bridge across a stream he had often fished when a boy, and so on into a wood which formed one of the home coverts. Making his way through this familiar haunt of by-gone days he came to one of the long rides which bisected the wood for some quarter of a mile.
Then Gifford saw his eyes seek hers as he added: "Where was it found? Near the tower?" The covert malice of the insinuation was plain in the questioner's look, although the tone was casual enough. "No. On the lawn," Gifford replied quietly. Nothing more of importance happened that day at Wynford, and Gifford had no further opportunity of private talk with Edith Morriston.
"If not that, you may, if he is friendly with you, have an opportunity of getting to hear something of his plans and ideas, and warning me if he is likely to worry us at Wynford. We don't want the tragedy kept alive indefinitely; it would be intolerable. I am sure you understand how I feel. That is all."
"It appears from her story that on the night of the Hunt Ball held here she had been paying a visit to some friends at Rapscot, a village, as you know, about a mile beyond Wynford. On her way back to the town, for which she started at about 9.45, she took as a short cut the right-of-way path running across the park and passing near the house.
As I was riding along the Loxford road this afternoon I met Dick Morriston, and he told me that another discovery of blood-stains has been made at Wynford. On a girl's ball-dress too. And on whose do you suppose it is?" "Not Miss Morriston's?" Gifford suggested breathlessly. Kelson nodded, with a slight look of surprise at the correctness of the guess. "Yes. Isn't it queer?
"So I suppose he is content to let the mystery remain a mystery," the landlord remarked. And the Coroner's jury subsequently had perforce to come to the same conclusion. On the 16th of the following month, Hugh Gifford's impatience and anxiety were set at rest, as the morning's post brought the expected letter from Wynford.
Gifford turned away, and leaned on the mantelpiece. "I don't know what to think," he said gloomily. Next morning directly after breakfast Kelson started for Wynford Place. As the result of deliberating fully upon the anxious problem before them, he and Gifford had come to the conclusion that it might be a grave mistake to try to keep secret the maid's discovery.
Unless some ingenious person, bent on vengeance, tracked him here and then lured him into the tower. Then how did the determined pursuer contrive to leave him and the key inside the locked room?" At Wynford Place, where they had now arrived, they found several callers. The subject of the tragedy was naturally uppermost in everybody's mind, and the principal topic of conversation.
He anticipated no difficulty there; still, as he said, "The thing has got to be done, and the sooner it is over the better." "Why not go to-morrow?" Gifford suggested. "There will be rather a rush to-day." Kelson, a man of action, scoffed at the idea. "Oh, no; Muriel and Charlie are coming over to Wynford to luncheon. I shall simply get the thing settled and drive back with them."
He nodded, and as unwilling to discuss the matter further, opened a newspaper and turned away. About noon next day Gifford went with Kelson to Wynford Place.
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