Chapter XXII.
New Discoveries
Roger and Anthony stood in the sitting-room that had been occupied by the Rev. Meadows, while the stout landlady entertained them with a ceaseless flow of reminiscences concerning her late guest. Anthony’s face was already feeling the strain of keeping an expression of polite interest held firmly toward this stream of verbiage; Roger was blatantly paying not the slightest attention. Anthony began to realise why his cousin had been so anxious to bring him.
“Never was a one for making a fuss, neither,” the stout landlady assured Anthony with considerable emphasis. “Not never, he wasn’t! Always got a pleasant word for me when I’d bring his meals in or come to ask him if he wanted anything, like. Make a little joke too, he would, as often as not. Very fond of his little joke, the Rev. Meadows was. Sometimes I couldn’t help but laugh at him, he’d say such comical things. Seems dreadful to think of now, doesn’t it, sir, with the poor gentleman lying stiff and cold in his grave, as you might say?” She paused momentarily for breath.
“Very dreadful,” Anthony agreed, casting a harassed eye at a pink china pig on the mantelpiece.
Roger, who had been gazing thoughtfully out of the low window, turned round. “Did anybody come to see Mr. Meadows before breakfast on the morning of his death?” he asked abruptly.
The landlady was so taken aback that she answered with equal brevity. “No, sir, that there wasn’t.”
“You’re sure?”
“Quite sure, sir,” replied the landlady, recovering herself. “You see, I was in me kitchen from⸺”
“Did he have a visitor on the previous day, do you remember?” Roger cut in ruthlessly.
“No, sir; he never had a visitor all the time he was here, not till you came. Very quiet gentleman, he was; very quiet. I remember saying to Mrs. Mullins, not three days before the end, ‘Mrs. Mullins,’ I said, ‘there’s lodgers and lodgers, as you know as well as I do, but the Rev. Meadows, he⸺’ ”