“YES, sir,” Warder Jones was saying, “jumped clean off the rock ’e did. Just like as if ’e was some big bird that was going to fly. I’ve sent the men we brought along from Annecy to recover the body. But it’ll take ’em some time to find it.”
Doctor Edwardes was sitting at his desk—the desk from which he had ruled Château Landry for the better part of a lifetime. Warder Jones was standing at his elbow. “Very good, Jones,” said Doctor Edwardes wearily. “Tell them to let me know as soon as they have found it.”
“Yes, sir,” said the warder, turning on his heel.
He paused a moment.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” he said. “About the doctor.”
“The doctor?”
“Doctor Murchison, sir.”
“He will recover, Jones.”
“Lucky we found ’im sir.”
“Lucky indeed.”
“If I ’adn’t noticed that them bushes were
