He lingered, glancing about. Mr. Breeze also lingered, and then in his downright manner squarely approached Edwin.
"I'll walk down with ye to the gates," said he.
"Yes," said Edwin.
Mr. Breeze moved his head round with care. Their umbrellas touched. In front of them the broken units of a procession tramped in disorder, chatting.
"I've got that will for you," said Mr. Breeze in a confidential tone.
"What will?"
"Mrs. Hamps's."
"But your cashier said there was no will at your place!"
"My cashier doesn't know everything," remarked Mr. Breeze. And in his voice was the satisfied grimness of a true native of the district, and a Longshaw man. "Mrs. Hamps deposited her will with me as much as a friend as anything else. The fact is I had it in my private safe. I should have called with it this morning, but I knew that you'd be busy, and what's more I can't go paying calls of a morning. Here it is."
Mr. Breeze drew an endorsed foolscap envelope from the breast pocket of his overcoat, and handed it to Edwin.