Anne Hereford. Mrs. Henry Wood
he repeated, catching me up quickly; "who else was in the room?"
"My Aunt Selina."
"Then she took Mr. Heneage's part?"
"Yes, sir."
"How did the quarrel end? Amicably, or in evil feeling?"
"I don't know, sir. I went away, and stayed in my bedroom."
"My sister-in-law, Mrs. Edwin, may be able to tell you more about it, as she was present," interposed Mr. Barley.
"I dare say she can," was the officer's reply. "It seems a curious thing altogether--that two gentlemen should be visiting at a house, and one should shoot the other. How long had they been staying here?"
"Let's see," said Mr. Barley, rubbing his forefinger upon his forehead. "It must be a month, I fancy, sir, since they came. Heneage was here first: some days before Philip."
"Were they acquainted previously?"
"I--think--not," said Mr. Barley, speaking with hesitation. "Heneage was here on a short visit in the middle of the summer, but not Philip: whereas Philip was here at Easter, and the other was not. No, sir, I believe they were not acquainted before, but my brother can tell you."
"Who is this Mr. Heneage?"
"Don't you know? He is the son of the member for Wexborough. Oh, he is of very good family--very. A sad blow it will be for them, if things turn out as black as they look. Will he get clear off, think you?"
"You may depend upon it, he would not have got off far, but for this confounded fog that has come on," warmly replied the police-officer. "We shall have him to-morrow, no doubt."
"I never hardly saw such a fog at this time of year," observed Mr. Barley. "I couldn't see a yard before me as I came along. Upon my word, it almost seems as if it had come on purpose to screen him."
"Was he a pleasant man, this Heneage?"
"One of the nicest fellows you ever met, sir," was Mr. Barley's impulsive reply. "The last week or two Edwin seems to have taken some spite against him; I don't know what was up between them, for my part: but I liked Heneage, what I saw of him, and thought him an uncommon good fellow. Mrs. Edwin Barley has known him a long while; my brother only recently. They all met in London last spring."
"Heneage derives no benefit in any way, by property or otherwise, from his death?" observed the policeman, speaking half as a question, half as a soliloquy.
"It's not likely, sir. The only person to benefit is my brother. He comes in for it all."
The officer raised his eyes. "Your brother comes in for young King's fortune, Mr. Barley?"
"Yes, he does. And I'll be bound he never gave a thought to the inheriting of it. How should he, from a young and hearty lad like Philip? Edwin has croaked over Philip's health of late, said he was consumptive, and going the way of his brother Reginald; but I saw nothing amiss with Philip."
"May I ask why you don't inherit, Mr. Barley, being the eldest brother?"
"He was no blood relation to me. My father married twice, I was the son of the first wife; Edwin of the second; and Philip King's father and Edwin's mother were cousins. Philip had no male relative living but my brother, therefore he comes in for the estate."
Mrs. Edwin Barley appeared at the door, and paused there, as if listening to the conclusion of the last sentence. Mr. Barley turned and saw her, and she came forward. She had twisted up her damp hair, and thrown on a shawl of white China crape. Her eyes were brilliant, her cheeks carmine--beautiful she looked altogether.
The officer questioned her as to the cause of the quarrel which she had been present at, but she would give him no satisfactory answer. She "could not remember;" "Philip King was in the wrong, she knew that;" "the officer must excuse her talking, for her head ached, and her brain felt confused." Such was the substance--all, in fact, that he could get from her. He bowed and withdrew, and Mr. Barley followed him downstairs, Selina bolting the door after them.
"Now, Anne, I must have a little conversation with you," she said, drawing me to her as she sat on the low ottoman. And I could see that she shivered still. She proceeded to question me of what had occurred after I left her at the summer-house. I told her; and had got to where Philip King was shot, when she interrupted.
"Good heavens, child! you saw him shot?"
"I heard the noise, and saw him fall. It seemed to come from the spot where he had been gazing."
"Did you see who did it?" she asked, scarcely above her breath.
"No!"
"Then you saw no one about but Philip King?"
"I saw Mr. Edwin Barley. He was near the spot from whence the shot seemed to come, looking through the trees and standing still, as if he wondered what could be amiss. For, oh, Selina! Philip King's scream was dreadful, and must have been heard a long way."
My aunt caught hold of my arm in a sort of fright. "Anne! what do you say? You saw Edwin Barley at that spot! Not Mr. Heneage?"
"I did not see Mr. Heneage at all then. I saw only Mr. Edwin Barley. He came up to Philip King, asking what was the matter."
"Had he his gun with him--Edwin Barley?"
"Yes, he was carrying it."
She dropped my arm, and sat quite still, shrinking as if some blow had struck her. Two or three minutes passed before she spoke again.
"Go on, Anne. What next? Tell me all that passed, for I suppose you heard." And I related what I knew, word for word.
"You have not told me all, Anne."
"Yes, I have."
"Did not Philip King say that Mr. Heneage had raised his gun, aimed at him, and fired?--that he saw him do it?"
"He did not, aunt. He only said what I have told you."
"Lie the first!" she exclaimed, lifting her hand and letting it fall passionately. "Then you never saw Mr. Heneage?"
"I saw him later." And I went on to tell her of the meeting him through my taking the wrong turning. I told her all: how he looked like one in mortal fright; what he said; and of my asking him whether he had done it.
"Well?" she feverishly interrupted. "Well?"
"He quite denied it," I answered, repeating to her exactly the words Mr. Heneage had said.
"You say he looked scared--confused?"
"Yes, very much so."
"And Mr. Edwin Barley--did he?"
"Not at all. He looked just as he always looks. He seemed to be surprised, and very sorry; his voice, when he spoke to Philip King, was kinder than I ever heard it."
Another pause. She seemed to be thinking.
"I can hardly understand where it was you saw George Heneage, Anne: you must show me, to-morrow. Was it on the same side from which the shot came?"
"Yes; I think near to the place. Or how could he have heard Mr. Barley speak to me?"
"How long had you been in the wood when the shot was fired?"
"About ten minutes or a quarter of an hour."
"Little girls compute time differently from grown people, Anne. A few minutes might seem like a quarter of an hour to you."
"Mamma taught me how differently time appears to pass, according to what we may be doing, Aunt Selina. That when we are pleasantly occupied, it seems to fly; and when we are impatient for it to go on, or in any suspense or fear, it does not seem to move. I think I have learnt to be pretty exact, and I do believe that I was in the wood nearly a quarter of an hour. I was running about for some time, looking for Mr. Heneage, as you told me, before I found I had lost myself. And then I was some minutes getting over the fright. I