The other felt relieved. There was no fear of the man discovering the alteration of the hands if he had been asleep ever since nine, and it crossed his mind as just within the bounds of possibility that this circumstance might yet stand him in good stead.
“Just over half-past nine? So it is,” he said carelessly, as the waiter re-appeared with the brandy and soda. “I must have come quick, for it seemed to me a precious long way from Wandsborough.”
“You have come quick, sir. Did you come by the cliffs?”
“The cliffs! Is there a way by the cliffs, then?”
“Oh yes, sir, much shorter. But not over-safe at night, speshully to a gentleman as doesn’t know the country well.”
“H’m! I should think not. Likely to take a plunge over in the dark—eh? By the way, what’s the name of the verger at Wandsborough church? He seems a nice, civil sort of fellow. I rather liked the look of him, and he quite took me under his wing and looked after me. The bald-headed man.” This would show that he had been at Wandsborough.
“Brown, sir, it is. Oh yes, I know him well, he’s been there a matter o’ many years now. He’s a downright good honest chap, is Brown,” and then the loquacious one launched into a dissertation on the many good qualities and rare virtues of the official in question, which we shall spare the reader, even as he upon whom it was inflicted spared himself by promptly retiring to his room.
Next morning, while the grey-bearded stranger was leisurely discussing a late breakfast, the talkative waiter bustled in.
“Heard the news, sir? but of course you ’aven’t—seeing you’re only just up.”
“Quite right, my friend. And now, what’s the excitement?”