Sir John reined in his horse and sat as if deeply pondering, while the Corporal watched him, serenely patient. “Is aught wrong, sir?” he inquired at last. Sir John glanced up and round about upon the peaceful beauty of the countryside. “’Twill be a lovely evening, Robert.” “Quite so, sir.” “We don’t believe in presentiments, do we, Bob?” “No, sir—leastways——” “Or omens and the like liverish fancies? Now, do we happen to believe in warnings, by any chance?” “Depends, sir, on who warns and what about.” “And after all, Bob, as Mr. Potter once remarked: ‘What is to be, must be!’ So let us on and be done with it one way or t’other.” CHAPTER XXXVII WHICH GIVETH SOME DESCRIPTION OF A MURDERER’S HAT “Why such speed, sir?” inquired the Corporal as they galloped up the long hill out of Seaford. “Aye, why indeed!” answered Sir John. “Life is short enough o’ conscience! Let us then rather amble the whiles I sum up our case as it standeth to-day. And heed and mark me well, Robert.... And we begin with my Lord Sayle, a sordid creature of sordid tastes, of whom ’twere better to talk in metaphor.... My Lord Sayle, then, is reported to have a keen eye for beauty and a catholic taste; the stately lily, the humble, modest violet each alike find favour in his eyes and he culleth them as he may; he acquireth by money, by guile, by force—aye, frequently by force, for the which he useth divers agents ... and James Sturton we know for one of these agents. “Upon a certain evening some two years ago, a young village girl went up Windover, she going thither to carry a cake to her lover, Roger Hobden, who was tending sheep there. So much at least we know for fact; here followeth surmise: James Sturton, in company with another of my lord’s agents, by name Jonas Skag, being about their master’s evil business, there met with her, and in this desolate place she screamed, and with good reason! Hearing which outcry, Hobden came running. He fought desperately, one against the two, or more for aught we know, and in the struggle received a blow struck, as I believe, by Sturton, though much harder than he meant.... And so died poor Roger Hobden.” “But why should you think ’twas Sturton struck the fatal blow, sir?” “Why should Sturton be paying ‘hush-money’ to Jonas Skag?” “Aye, true, your honour!” “And have become my lord’s very slave?” “True again, sir! And he’s ever at Oxham’s beck and call, moreover.” “One other surmise, Bob.... During the struggle Jonas Skag’s pocket was torn, and out o’ that pocket fell a horn snuff-box——” “Why, your honour, here’s a powerful lot o’ surmises! ’Tis all mighty reasonable, but ye can’t convict a man nor yet hang a man by surmise.” “Very true, Bob. And here is the snuff-box!” Corporal Robert examined the sorry thing with a degree of interest. “But how,” he inquired, handing it back again, “how can your honour be sure ’twas the same box, or that Skag ever saw it, or lost it on the fatal oc-casion?”