“Because it would have been useless.  If he had escaped after attacking me, I should have done so.  But since I caught him, and found him to be very ill—­utterly unable to move, I proposed to take charge of him myself.  Mrs. Goddard is a friend of mine, and of the vicar, who knows her story perfectly well.  To publish the story in the village would be to do her a great injury.  Mrs. Ambrose, the vicar’s wife, who is also acquainted with the circumstances, is at this moment taking care of the sick man.  I presume that my promise—­I am a retired officer of the Navy—­and the promise of Mr. Ambrose, the vicar, are sufficient guarantee—­”

“Oh, there is no question of guarantee,” said Mr. Booley.  “I assure you, Mr. Juxon, I have no doubt whatever that you have acted for the best.  Can you tell me how long Goddard has been in the neighbourhood?”

The squire told the detective what he knew, taking care not to implicate Mrs. Goddard, even adding with considerable boldness, for he was not positively certain of the statement, that neither she nor any one else had known where the man was hiding.  Mr. Booley being sure that Goddard could not escape him, saw that he could claim the reward offered for the capture of the convict.  He asked whether he might see him.

“That is doubtful,” said the squire.  “When I left him just now he was quite unconscious, but he has lucid moments.  To frighten him at such a time might kill him outright.”

“It is very easy for me to say that I am another medical man,” remarked Mr. Booley.  “Perhaps I might say it in any case, just to keep the servants quiet.  I would like to see Mrs. Goddard, too.”

“That is another matter.  She is very nervous.  I am going to her house, now, and probably she will come back to the Hall with me.  I might perhaps tell her that you are here, but I think it would be likely to shock her very much.”

“Well, well, we will see about it,” answered Mr. Booley.  They reached the house and the squire ushered the detective into the study, begging him to wait for his return.

It was a new complication, though it had seemed possible enough.  But the position was not pleasant.  To feel that there was a detective in the house waiting to carry off Goddard, so soon as he should be well enough to be moved, was about as disagreeable as anything well could be.  The longer the squire thought of it, the more impossible and at the same time unnecessary it seemed to be to inform Mrs. Goddard of Booley’s arrival.  He hastened down the park, feeling that no time must be lost in bringing her to her husband’s bedside.

He found her waiting for him, and was struck by the calmness she displayed.  To tell the truth the violence of her emotions had been wholly expended on the previous night and the reaction had brought an intense melancholy quiet, which almost frightened Mr. Juxon.  The habit of bearing great anxiety had not been wholly forgotten, for the lesson had been well learned during those terrible days of her husband’s trial, and it was as though his sudden return had revived in her the custom of silent suffering.  She hardly spoke, but listened quietly to Mr. Juxon’s account of what had happened.