"'Our differences,'
as you call them, have led to _that_!" He turned and flung out a thin
arm toward the annex to the laboratory, where the bodies were lying. "It is
time, I think, that reasonable men should come to some understanding about
'differences' that can slay and madden a pair of poor hunted souls, as
these have been slain!"
"'Hunted?' What do you mean?" said Newbury, sternly, while his dark eyes
took fire.
"Hunted by the Christian conscience!--that it might lie comfortable o'
nights," was the scornful reply.
Newbury said nothing for a few moments. They emerged on the main road,
crossed it, and entered the Hoddon Grey park. Here they were alone, out of
sight of the crowd returning from the inquest to the neighboring village.
As they stepped into one of the green rides of the park they perceived a
motorcar descending the private road which crossed it a hundred yards away.
A man was driving it at a furious pace, and Coryston clearly recognized his
brother Arthur. He was driving toward Coryston. Up to the moment when the
news of the farm tragedy had reached him that morning, Coryston's mind had
been very full of what seemed to him the impending storm between his mother
and Arthur.
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