The weather was much better, for although the sky was still grey and sunless, the mists had vanished. Browne, walking smartly towards his goal, cast a musing eye on the dismal flats and wide marshy lands which environed the village. He wondered how anyone could live in such a place, and wondered still more why Sir Simon had come to so dreary a locality to meet with his terrible death. As he drew near Desleigh, he met an outcoming throng of human beings, of motor cars and bicycles, and carts and horses coming towards the station. Apparently the inquest was over, and the reporters, and those morbid people attracted towards the inn by curiosity, were returning to the railway, that they might be taken to their various destinations. A close carriage, with the arms of Sir Simon on the panels, drove past at full speed, and Browne had no doubt that Maud and her chaperon, along with Captain Kyles, were within. He felt sorry that the blinds were down, as he wanted to see how Maud looked, and whether her expression was one of triumph. He guessed that it was, as he felt pretty certain that the verdict of the jury had ticketed Angus Herries as a criminal of the worst type. Strange to say, he was so sure of what the verdict was, that he did not stop any of the hurrying people to ask questions. At the entrance to the village, he perceived the sloppy meadow wherein stood the gaily coloured caravan of Sweetlips Kind, and he smiled to himself to think of what would be said did anyone know that the accused man was snugly ensconced under the flooring of the vehicle. He then recognised how true it was what Kind had said regarding the safety of the hiding-place. No one, much less Trent, suspicious as he was, would credit Herries with being such a fool as to remain so near the scene of his supposed crime. And therein lay the man's safety. As Browne sent a second stealthy glance in the direction of that refuge for innocence, he stumbled against a woman who was coming swiftly along the road with her shawl up to her eyes. In her blindness, she had run up against him. "Where are you going?--oh it's you, Elspeth." It was indeed Elspeth. She had run out of the inn, with a shawl over her head, and a fringe of this was pressed to her tearful eyes. As the doctor spoke, she let the shawl drop, and he saw that her eyes were red with weeping, and that her small white face looked smaller and whiter than ever. "Yes, it's me," she said nervously, glancing at the many men and women who were hurrying past to the station. "I am going to see Rachel, who is still ill. She is alone," this with a meaning glance at the doctor, and apparently uttered for the benefit of the public. "Sweetlips is drinking at the inn." "What is the verdict?" asked Browne eagerly, although he knew very well what answer he would get.