“Yes, his expensive aristocratic shooting boots; I vow they come from Lobbs. Jimmy got his there—before he lost his money.”
“Perhaps the chauffeur bought them second-hand?” suggested Aurea.
Mrs. Ramsay ignored the remark with a waving hand.
“I cannot think what has induced a man of his class to come and bury himself here in this God-forsaken spot.”
“Ottinge-in-the-Marsh is obliged to you!”
“Now, you know what I mean, Aurea. You are a clever girl. I put the question to him, and got no satisfactory answer. Is it forgery, murder, piracy on the high seas, somebody’s wife—or what?” She rested her chin on her hand, and nodded sagaciously at her companion. “I understand that he has been working indoors a good deal, and helping you and Miss Susan.” She paused significantly. “You must have seen something of him. Tell me, darling, how did you find him?”
“Most useful, wonderfully clever with his hands, strong, obliging, and absolutely speechless.”
“Ah! Does he have his meals here?”
“No.”
“Dear me, what a cruel blow for the maid-servants! Did he come from a garage?”