“But this fine modern hotel of yours is not as old as that?”
The landlord’s face glowed with pride. “Right you are, sir. Some few years ago wife had some money left her, and we built the old place over—pretty near made a whole new house of it.”
“You have many guests?”
“Well, not as many as I’d like; but as many as I can expect in a little town like this. Mostly transients, of course; drummers and men of that sort. Young Willard stayed here, when the Van Norman house was full of company, but after the—the trouble, he went back there to stay.”
“Affable sort of man, Willard, isn’t he?” observed Stone.
“Yes, he’s all of that, but he’s a scapegrace. He used to lead this town a dance when he lived here.”
“How long since he lived here?”
“Oh, he’s only been away a matter of three years, or that. ’Bout a year before his uncle died they quarrelled. They both had the devil’s own temper, and they had quarrelled before, but this time it was for keeps; and so off goes Mr. Tom, and never turns up again until he comes to Miss Madeleine’s wedding.”
“Was he in any business when he lived here?”
“Yes, he had a good position as engineer in a big factory. He was a good worker, Tom was, and not afraid of anything. Always jolly and good-natured, except when he’d have one of them fearful fits of temper. Then he was like a raging lion—no, more like a tiger; quiet-like, but deep and desperate.”