“In the meantime, here’s the lodge. What about seeing if William’s in? He lives here, doesn’t he? Or Mrs. William. They might have opened the gates to this man Prince last night.”
“Right-ho. But be discreet.”
“Really, Alec!” said Roger with dignity, as he tapped on the lodge door.
William’s wife was a round-faced, apple-cheeked old lady with a pair of twinkling blue eyes that looked as if they saw something humorous in most of the things upon which they rested; as no doubt they did, considering that they belonged to the wife of William.
“Good-afternoon, gentlemen,” she said, with a little old-fashioned bob. “Would it be me you were wanting?”
“Good-afternoon,” Roger replied with a smile. “We were wondering if William happened to be at home.”
“Me ’usband? Lor’, no, sir; he’s never at home at this time. He’s got his work to do.”
“Oh, I suppose he’s about the garden somewhere, is he?”
“Yes, sir. Cuttin’ pea-sticks in the orchard, I think he is. Was it anything important?”
“Oh, no; nothing important. I’ll call around and see him later on.”