Nothing unusual occurred. Indeed, save that Bridget came forth to attend to the mares, having doubtless been instructed to do so by Teresa, nothing occurred at all till a little after nine o’clock. Then Mr. Craig issued quickly out of the house, went along the boreen, and down towards the village. At a discreet distance Richard followed him, for he deemed it his bounden-duty to keep an eye on Raphael Craig until Nolan, the detective, should have departed from the house. It was not pleasant for him to think of his prospective father-in-law as a potential murderer, but he had no alternative save to face the possibility. It is a full mile from Queen’s Farm to Hockliffe village. Mr. Craig, however, walked quickly, and the distance was soon accomplished. The old man went into the general store, which is also the post-office--a tiny place crammed with the produce of the East and of the West. After a moment’s hesitation, Richard also walked towards the post-office. When he reached it, Mr. Craig was in the act of paying for a telegram. ‘Hullo! Good-morning,’ said Raphael Craig blithely. ‘What are you doing here?’ ‘I came for some stamps,’ Richard answered. ‘Hum! They said you’d gone down to the village for breakfast. What with one thing and another, our household arrangements are somewhat upset, I’m afraid. Ta-ta!’ Raphael Craig left the shop, apparently quite incurious as to Richard’s doings or plans for the day. Richard was decidedly reassured by the man’s demeanour. He seemed as sane, as calm, as collected as a bank manager could be. And yet--last night! Richard breakfasted at the hostelry of the White Horse, and then walked slowly back to Queen’s Farm. As he approached the house he met Richard Craig again going down to the village. Four times that day the old man went down himself to the village post-office to despatch telegrams, and he openly stated that he was going to despatch telegrams. Teresa was in the orchard, and Richard went to her. He said that he did not see how he could stay longer in the house, that he ought to return to London, and yet that he scarcely cared to leave. To his surprise, Teresa appeared agitated and distressed at the mere idea of his leaving. ‘Don’t go at present,’ she urged him. ‘Stay at least another twenty-four hours. Just think how I am fixed. That man ill and delirious--by the way, Juana won’t leave his side--and father and Juana not on speaking terms. There is no knowing what may happen. We needn’t pretend to each other, Dick, that there isn’t something very peculiar and mysterious about father. I dare say you know more than I do, and I shan’t ask questions. I don’t want to know, Dick, so long as you’re here. But do stay a bit. Stay till something turns up.’ ‘Till something turns up?’ He repeated her phrase. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I don’t know,’ she said simply; ‘but stay.’ He kissed her.