"Coming up in the wagons," Wrayson answered. "She has been riding all day and was tired."
A Kaffir boy came out with a tray and glasses. Wrayson helped himself to a whisky and soda, and lit a cigar.
"I'll get my pony and ride back with you to meet them," Duncan said.
Wrayson detained him.
"One moment," he said, "I have something to say to you first."
Duncan glanced at him a little anxiously. Wrayson answered the look.
"Nothing—disturbing," he said. "You learnt the end of everything from my letters?"
"I think so," Duncan answered.
"The verdict on your father's death was absolutely unanimous," Wrayson said. "He was seen to stagger on the platform just as the train came in, and he seemed to make every effort to save himself. He was killed quite instantaneously. I do not think that any one had a suspicion that it was not entirely accidental."
Duncan nodded.
"And the other affair?"
"You mean the death of Sydney Barnes? No one has ever doubted that he committed suicide. Everything seemed to point to it. There is only one man who knew about Morris Barnes and probably guesses the rest. His name was Heneage, and he was your father's friend. He did not speak when he was alive, so he is not likely to now. There is the young woman, of course, Mrs. Morris Barnes. She has married again and gone to Canada. Louise looked after her."
Duncan took up his riding-whip from the table.
