Denry was the one person in the town who enjoyed the acquaintance and the confidence of the thrice-widowed stranger with long moustaches. He had descended without notice on Bursley, seen Denry (at the branch office of the Thrift Club), and then departed. It was understood that later he would permanently settle in the district. Then the wonderful house began to rise on the plot of land at Bleakridge. Denry had general charge of it, but always subject to erratic and autocratic instructions from London. Thanks to Denry, who since the historic episode at Llandudno had remained very friendly with the Cotterill family, Mr. Cotterill had the job of building the house; the plans came from London. And though Mr. Cecil Wilbraham proved to be exceedingly watchful against any form of imposition, the job was a remunerative one for Mr. Cotterill, who talked a great deal about the originality of the residence. The town judged of the wealth and importance of Mr. Cecil Wilbraham by the fact that a person so wealthy and important as Denry should be content to act as his agent. But then the Wilbrahams had been magnates in the Bursley region for generations, up till the final Wilbraham smash in the late seventies. The town hungered to see those huge moustaches and that peculiar eye. In addition to Denry, only one person had seen the madman, and that person was Nellie Cotterill, who had been viewing the half-built house with Denry one Sunday morning when the madman had most astonishingly arrived upon the scene, and after a few minutes vanished. The building of the house strengthened greatly the friendship between Denry and the Cotterills. Yet Denry neither liked Mr. Cotterill nor trusted him.
The next incident in these happenings was that Mrs. Machin received notice from the London firm to quit her four-and-sixpence a week cottage. It seemed to her that not merely Brougham Street, but the world, was coming to an end. She was very angry with Denry for not protecting her more successfully. He was Mr. Wilbraham's agent, he collected the rent, and it was his duty to guard his mother from unpleasantness. She observed, however, that he was remarkably disturbed by the notice, and he assured her that Mr. Wilbraham had not consulted him in the matter at all. He wrote a letter to London, which she signed, demanding the reason of this absurd notice flung at an ancient and perfect tenant. The reply was that Mr. Wilbraham intended to pull the houses down, beginning with Mrs. Machin's, and rebuild.
"Pooh!" said Denry. "Don't you worry your head, mother; I shall arrange it. He'll be down here soon to see his new house—it's practically finished, and the furniture is coming in—and I 'll just talk to him."
But Mr. Wilbraham did not come, the explanation doubtless being that he was mad. On the other hand, fresh notices came with amazing frequency. Mrs. Machin just handed them over to Denry. And then Denry received a telegram to say that Mr. Wilbraham would be at his new house that night and wished to see Denry there. Unfortunately, on the same day, by the afternoon post, while Denry was at his offices, there arrived a sort of supreme and ultimate notice from London to Mrs. Machin, and it was on blue paper. It stated, baldly, that as Mrs. Machin had failed to comply with all the previous notices, had indeed ignored them, she and her goods would now be ejected into the street according to the law. It gave her twenty-four hours to flit. Never had a respectable dame been so insulted as Mrs. Machin was insulted by that notice. The prospect of camping out in Brougham Street confronted her. When Denry reached home that evening Mrs. Machin, as the phrase is, "gave it him."
Denry admitted frankly that he was nonplussed, staggered, and outraged. But the thing was simply another proof of Mr. Wilbraham's madness. After tea he decided that his mother must put on her best clothes and go up with him to see Mr. Wilbraham and firmly expostulate—in fact, they would arrange the situation between them; and if Mr. Wilbraham was obstinate they would defy Mr. Wilbraham. Denry explained to his mother that an Englishwoman's cottage was her castle, that a landlord's minions had no right to force an entrance, and that the one thing that Mr. Wilbraham could do was to begin unbuilding the cottage from the top, outside. And he would like to see Mr. Wilbraham try it on!
So the sealskin mantle (for it was spring again) went up with Denry to Bleakridge.
IV
The moon shone in the chill night. The house stood back from Trafalgar Road in the moonlight—a squarish block of a building.
"Oh!" said Mrs. Machin. "It isn't so large."
"No! He did n't want it large. He only wanted it large enough," said Denry, and pushed a button to the right of the front door. There was no reply, though they heard the ringing of the bell inside. They waited. Mrs. Machin was very nervous, but thanks to her sealskin mantle she was not cold.