Who, then, was left who could have fired the fatal shot?

It was a question Dunn dared not even ask himself but he saw very plainly that if the proceedings against the two arrested men were to be pressed, he would be forced to come forward before his preparations were ready and tell all he knew, no matter at what cost.

All the morning he waited and watched for his opportunity to speak to Ella, who was in a brighter and gayer mood than he had ever seen her in before.

At breakfast Deede Dawson had assured her that he could not conceive what were the suspicions she had referred to the night previously, and while he would certainly have no objection to her mentioning them at any time, in any quarter she thought fit if anything happened at Wreste Abbey—­and would indeed be the first to urge her to do so —­he, for his part, considered it most unlikely that anything of the sort she seemed to dread would in fact occur.

“Not at all likely,” he said with his happy, beaming smile that never reached those cold eyes of his.  “I should say myself that nothing ever did happen at Wreste Abbey, not since the Flood, anyhow.  It strikes me as the most peaceful, secluded spot in all England.”

“I’m very glad you think so,” said Ella, tremendously relieved and glad to hear him say so, and supposing, though his smooth words and smiles and protestations deceived her very little, that, at any rate, what she had said had forced him to abandon whatever plans he had been forming in that direction.

Her victory, as it seemed to her, won so easily and containing good promise of further success in the future, cheered her immensely, and it was in almost a happy mood that she went unto the garden after lunch and met Dunn in a quiet, well-hidden corner, where he had been waiting and watching for long.

His appearance startled her—­his eyes were so wild, his whole manner so strained and restless, and she gave a little dismayed exclamation as she saw him.

“Oh, what’s the matter?” she asked.  “Aren’t you well?  You look—­”

She paused for she did not know exactly how it was he did look; and he said in his harshest, most abrupt manner

“Do you remember Charley Wright?”

“Why do you ask?” she said, puzzled.  “Is anything wrong?”

“Do you remember John Clive?” he asked, disregarding this.  “Have you heard two men have been arrested for his murder?”

“Mrs. Barker told me so,” she answered gravely.  He came a little nearer, almost threateningly nearer.

“What do you think of that?” he asked.

She lifted one hand and put it gently on his arm.  The touch of it thrilled him through and through, and he felt a little dazed as he watched it resting on his coat sleeve.  She had become very pale also and her voice was low and strained as she said

“Have you had suspicions too?”

He looked at her as if fascinated for a moment, and then nodded twice and very slowly.