Quickly and quietly, he leads the animal into an empty stable;
quickly and quietly, he gets a bucket of hot water, and puts the lame
horse's leg into it. "The warm water will reduce the swelling, sir. I will
bandage the leg afterwards." All that he does is done intelligently; all
that he says, he says to the purpose.
Nothing wild, nothing strange about him now. Is this the same man whom we
heard talking in his sleep?--the same man who woke with that cry of terror
and that horrid suspicion in his eyes? I determine to try him with one or
two questions.
III
"Not much to do here," I say to the hostler.
"Very little to do, sir," the hostler replies.
"Anybody staying in the house?"
"The house is quite empty, sir."
"I thought you were all dead. I could make nobody hear me."
"The landlord is very deaf, sir, and the waiter is out on an errand."
"Yes; and _you_ were fast asleep in the stable. Do you often take a nap in
the daytime?"
The worn face of the hostler faintly flushes. His eyes look away from my
eyes for the first time. Mrs. Fairbank furtively pinches my arm. Are we on
the eve of a discovery at last? I repeat my question. The man has no civil
alternative but to give me an answer. The answer is given in these words:
"I was tired out, sir. You wouldn't have found me asleep in the daytime
but for that.
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