Accordingly he went, and did, as he expected, no good at all. Janet had resumed her ordinary manner, with an additional touch or two of vivacity and loquaciousness, which betrayed the uneasiness they were meant to hide. The only subjects she discussed were the last new novel and Tora Smith's wedding, and Philip took his leave, entirely unenlightened. The Squire offered to walk part of the way with him and they set out together. The Squire stopped at the scene of the disaster. Pointing with his toe to a spot by the side of the drive: "That's where that mad wretch stood, holding my poor girl," he said. Philip nodded. "And where was Dale?" he asked, for it was his first visit to the spot. The Squire was delighted to be _cicerone_. "He was standing with his back to that tree yonder, about fifteen yards off, looking due north, toward the house, thinking of a poem or some nonsense, I suppose." "I shouldn't wonder." "Well, then," pursued the Squire, "you see he was almost in a straight line with Roberts--Roberts' barrel must have pointed straight toward Denborough church spire. After the first shot Bannister sprang forward--the gravel was soft, and we saw every footprint--to where Miss Fane fell, and----" "Where did she fall?" The Squire's toe indicated a spot about three yards from the tree. "She was running up from behind Bannister, you know, and had just got across the line of fire when the bullet caught her. She fell forward on her face,--she was bound to, Spink said, from the way she was hit,--and Bannister just got his arm under her, to break her fall." "She was running toward him, I suppose, to warn him?" "To get between him and Roberts, like the noble girl she is, no doubt; but she seemed to have turned round on hearing the shot, because, to judge from the way she was lying, she was, at the moment she fell, heading almost south." "What, toward the house?" "Yes, in a slanting line, from the tree toward the house." "That's away from Bannister?" "Yes, and from Roberts too. You see, she must have turned. It was a fine thing. Well, I must get back; I'm busy with all the preparations for this affair. Good-day, Mr. Hume. Very kind of you to come and see us." "I'm so glad to find Miss Delane better." "Yes, she's better, thanks, but not herself yet, by any means. Good-day." Philip went home, lit a pipe, and drew a neat little plan of the scene which had just been so carefully described to him. By the time the drawing was made the pipe was finished, and he was obliged to light another, which he consumed while he sat gazing at his handiwork. He was still pondering over it when Dale came in, and flung himself into an armchair with a restless sigh. "What's up now?" asked Philip. "Only that I'm the most miserable dog alive. I tell you what, Phil, I'm going to settle this affair one way or the other. I won't be played with any more. I shall go up to the Grange to-morrow." "You can't--it's Fulmer's wedding."