“Um! Well, I hope you may soon have him back,” the rector said slowly.
Todmarsh smiled for the first time that day.
“Uncle James, I do not believe you appreciate my poor Hopkins any more than those people at Burchester do.”
Mr. Collyer twisted himself about impatiently.
“I really did not know Hopkins at all, Aubrey. I did not take to him, I must confess. Burchester? I did not think that was the name of the place where he was taken.”
“Oh, of course he was taken at Whistone. I suppose Burchester was the nearest gaol,” Aubrey said carelessly. Then with a little more appearance of interest, “Why, do you know Burchester, Uncle James?”
Mr. Collyer shook his head.
“No. My interest has always lain in the North or the Midlands. But Mr. Steadman has got Tony the offer of a post near there. He went down somewhere there the other day with Inspector Furnival. I thought them rather mysterious about it, I must say. I should have enjoyed the ride, for they went down in the car, and it was a lovely day. But I soon found that they did not want a companion.”
“Business, perhaps,” Todmarsh suggested. His face was dull and uninterested now: the enthusiasm so remarkable when he spoke of Hopkins had died out.
“Oh, I shouldn't think so!” Mr. Collyer dissented. “What connexion could there be between your Uncle Luke's death and a quiet little country town such as Burchester? No, Burford was the place they went to.”