“We go, but we leave our undying sympathy and commiseration, dear friend,” declared Mr. Travers.  “Believe me, this has aged my wife and myself.  Probably it would not be an exaggeration to say it has aged us all.  That he should have come through Jutland, done worthy deeds, won honorable mention and the D. S. O., then to be snatched out of life in this incomprehensible manner—­nay, perhaps even by supernatural means, for we cannot yet actually declare it is not so.  All this makes it impossible to say much that can comfort you or dear Mary.  Time must pass I fear, Walter.  You must get her away into another environment.  Thank Heaven she has youth on her side.”

“Yes, yes, I shall live for her, be sure of that.”  He left them and presently spoke to his nephew alone in his study.

“Do what you can for them.  Handford and Vane are getting off this afternoon, the rest early to-morrow.  I don’t think I shall be able to dine with them to-night.  Tom’s father will be here.  I fear he is likely to be prostrated when he knows that all is over.”

“No, he’s not that kind of man, uncle.  Mary tells me he will want to get to the bottom of this in his own way.  He’s one of the fighting sort, but he believes in a lot of queer things.  I’m going in to Newton with Colonel Vane, and shall meet Mannering there about—­about Sir Howard Fellowes.  He’ll come down to-morrow, no doubt, perhaps to-night.  Mannering will know.”

“And tell Mannering to insist on a detective called Peter Hardcastle for the inquiry.  If he’s left Scotland Yard and acting independently, none the less engage him.  I shall, of course, thankfully pay anything to get this tragedy explained.”

“Be sure they will explain it.”

“If they do not I shall be tempted to leave altogether.  Indeed, I may do so in any case.  Mary will never reconcile herself to live here now.”

“Don’t bother about the future, don’t think about it.  Consider yourself, and take a little rest this afternoon.  Everybody is very concerned for you, they mean to be awfully decent in their way; but I know how they try you.  They can’t help it.  Such a thing takes them out of their daily round, and beggars their experience, and makes them excited and tactless.  There’s no precedent for them, and you know how most people depend on precedent and how they’re bowled over before anything new.”

“I will go to Mary, I think.  Has the undertaker been?”

“Yes, uncle.”

“I want him to be buried with us here.  I should not suppose his father will object.”

“Not likely.  Mary would wish it so.”

“It was so typical of Mary to think of Septimus May before everybody.  She put her own feelings from her that she might soften the blow for him.”

“She would.”

“Are you equal to telling the clergyman at the station that his son is dead, or can’t you trust yourself to do it?”