"My husband!" Mrs. Mulready gasped.
"Yes, marm, I be main sorry to say it were. There, yards in front
of them, were Mr. Mulready just stiff and cold. He'd been flung
right out over the hoss' head. I expect he had fallen on his head
and must have been killed roight out; and the worst of it be, marm,
as it warn't an accident, for there, tight across the road, about
eighteen inches above the ground, was a rope stretched tight
atween a gate on either side. It was plain enough to see what had
happened. The mare had come tearing along as usual at twelve mile
an hour in the dark, and she had caught the rope, and in course
there had been a regular smash."
The pretty color had all gone from Mrs. Mulready's face as he began
his story, but a ghastly pallor spread over her face, and a look
of deadly horror came into her eyes as he continued.
"Oh, Ned, Ned," she wailed, "how could you!" and then she fell
senseless to the ground.
The constable raised her and placed her in a chair.
"Are you sure the master's dead?" the servant asked, wiping her
eyes.
"Sure enough," the constable said. "I have sent the doctor off
already, but it's no good, he's been dead hours and hours. But,"
he continued, his professional instincts coming to the surface,
"what did she mean by saying, 'Oh, Ned, how could you!' She asked
me, too, first about him; ain't he at home?"
"No, he ain't," the servant said, "and ain't been at home all
night; there were a row between him and maister last even; they had
a fight.
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