He reflected for some little time, and then rose from his chair and went downstairs.
Brickett as usual was behind the bar.
“Is that the violinist and picture dealer—the one I had breakfast with?” he inquired.
“Aye, surely that be he.”
“He’s a sharp customer, a downy sort of card—isn’t he?” said Mr. Wrench.
“He’s got his head screwed on the right way if that’s what you mean,” returned the landlord, a little sharply.
“Yes, that’s precisely what I do mean. Where does he hail from?”
“Hail from? I dunno.”
“He’s been travelling about the country, you say?”
“That ’im has—been to every mortal place, so I’ve heerd.”