The servants hazarded a hundred conjectures as to what could have led the young squire to commit such an awful deed. They had noticed his dusty clothing and his haggard look, and they had almost pitied him until they saw their old master’s terrible condition, and remembered who was the cause of it. Marks, nervous lest he should, in his agitation, betray how much he kuew, barely answered the questions addressed to him. He asked anxiously how the squire was, and learned that he was worse. Then he went back, heavy-hearted and red-eyed, to tell his poor girl as hopeful a tale as he might. On the way he met a constable who had been searching the grounds. The man stopped him. ‘You are the gate-keeper?’ he said. ‘Yes,’ stammered Marks, for the man was eyeing him keenly. ‘Did you let young Heritage in through the gates or see him pass?’ ‘I let him in.’ ‘Was he alone?’ Marks went hot and cold. Was Bess to be dragged into this dreadful business? He had heard of the London lawyers and trials, and how all your life came out in court, and how they cross-examined you till your heart was laid bare. Was he going to be treated like this? He remembered that he had enticed the dog away, and his heart almost stood still. Why, in a court of justice he would seem to be in league with the accused! And Bess! They would make out, ten to one, that it was through her it all came about! He stammered out something to the constable about not being quite himself. ‘You’re agitated now,’ said the constable, ‘and no wonder. It’s a nasty affair for the family. You’re an old servant, I believe? Well, I’ll come and see you to-morrow, and take a note of your evidence. Did you have any conversation with the young man when he came in?’ ‘A little.’ ‘All right. Well, think it over to-night, and let me know tomorrow what it was. You’ll be an important witness. Goodnight.’ Marks hardly knew how he got back to the lodge. Once inside, he bolted the door, and fell into his old armchair a prey to the greatest agitation. Bess came from the inner room, her eyes swollen with weeping. ‘Bess, my lass,’ said the old man, in a hollow voice, ‘there’s bad news. The old squire’s worse, and everybody thinks as Master George is guilty. The police are working up evidence a ready, and they want me.’ ‘You will tell them, father, that it could not be George, won’t you? You will tell them he came down here to ask his father’s forgiveness, not to rob and injure him.’ ‘I’m afraid, my lass, that nothing I could say would do Master George much good. I fear it ‘ud only do him a power o’ harm. There’s one thing we can do for him as I’m sure he’d be glad on.’ ‘What’s that, father?’ said Bess eagerly. ‘Get away from here, both on us. He don’t want you mixed up in it, I know, and I’d sooner cut my right hand off than go and speak agen him in court.’ At first Bess would not hear of flight, but gradually her father persuaded her that for George’s sake it was the best thing possible.