I was astonished, but the country bumpkins on the jury had, I imagined, made up their minds before the inquest that he had been kicked by his horse. “Were the letters read in court?” “No. They were considered unnecessary, and no one thought they bore on the issue.” “Do you think they did?” “Decidedly I do,” answered Mr. Gascoyne. “Depend upon it, there was foul play. I talked to the doctor who would not admit the horse theory, after the case was over, and he was quite positive the injuries could not have been inflicted by a horse’s hoof.” “Who was the girl?” I asked. “Well, I do not think it is quite right to disclose her name. I had a talk with her father, who was very distant and said the matter would be best settled by saying nothing more about it. I don’t know what he meant.” “Was the girl’s name by any chance Janet Gray?” Mr. Gascoyne looked at me in surprise. “That was her name, but how did you know?” “Harry Gascoyne spoke to me once or twice about her, and I wondered at the time from something he said whether he had not made rather a mess of things.” “Yes, I am afraid we men are very selfish, that is, until we have wives and daughters of our own. The possession of sisters does not seem to instil the same sense of responsibility to woman-kind.” “Does Miss Gascoyne know of this?” “No; unless the matter develops further I do not think it necessary to inform her.” “What did the police think of the affair?” “I fancy they are quite prepared to accept the horse theory.” “Then the matter is settled?” “Except for the trouble of the poor girl. It appears that he actually promised to marry her.” “He was generous-hearted enough for anything,” I answered, with calculated impulsiveness. “Her father asked me to give my word that the matter would not go any further, so you will remember that you hold a secret that affects three human beings at least.” “I shall of course be as silent as the grave.” He began to open his correspondence, and I rose to leave the room. “Oh, by the way, my wife and my niece have struck up quite a friendship. My wife remains at the Grange, and I shall go down there again for a few days next week.” I looked pleased. “I believe,” he added, smiling, “you have been indulging in some diplomacy at our expense. Don’t you think my niece is a beautiful woman?” “I think everyone would admit that.” “I expect she will make a very brilliant match.” I went out. I knew quite well why this last remark had been made, and smiled inwardly. Mr. Gascoyne had thought gently to dissuade me from indulging in hopes which were improbable of fulfilment. He could not know how carefully I had calculated all the obstacles that stood in the way of my success.