"
"I've done it already," thought Val, as he folded the letter and returned
it to his pocket. "As to my staying any time at Hartledon--not if I know
it."
Looking up at the sound of footsteps, he saw Hedges approaching. Never
free from a certain apprehension when any unexpected interruption
occurred--an apprehension that turned his heart sick, and set his pulses
beating--he waited, outwardly very calm.
"Floyd has called, my lord, and is asking to see you. He seems
rather--rather concerned and put out. I think it's something about--about
the death last summer."
Hedges hardly knew how to frame his words, and Lord Hartledon stared at
him.
"Floyd can come to me here," he said.
The miller soon made his appearance, carrying a small case half purse,
half pocket-book, in his hand, made of Russian leather, with rims of
gold. Val knew it in a moment, in spite of its marks of defacement.
"Do you recognize it, my lord?" asked the miller.
"Yes, I do," replied Lord Hartledon. "It belonged to my brother."
"I thought so," returned the miller. "On the very day before that
unfortunate race last year, his lordship was talking to me, and had this
in his hand. I felt sure it was the same the moment I saw it."
"He had it with him the day of the race," observed Lord Hartledon. "Mr.
Carteret said he saw it lying in the boat when they started. We always
thought it had been lost in the river.
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