"Very good sort, old Depping is," Standish replied defensively. "Related to some good friends of mine in India. Turned up one day five or six years ago; visited me; heard I'd the Guest House vacant; liked it; rented it, and been there since… Stiffish sort of fella. Fastidious, d'ye see? All books and what not; over my head. Even carried a special cook with him — liked the fancy dishes." the colonel chuckled. "But you had to know him, damme!"
"What do you mean by that?"
Standish assumed a confidential air. "Why, like this. Didn't know the fella ever drank much; only liked half a bottle of Burgundy — fastidious — bah. But I dropped in on him one night, unexpectedly. There was the old boy without his pince-nez, sitting in his study with his feet up on the desk, and three-quarters of a bottle of whisky gone — whistle-drunk. Ha. Queerest thing I ever saw. I said, 'Er, damme.' He said, 'Heh-heh.' Then he started to sing and roar, and… Look here," said the colonel uneasily. "I don't want to say anything against him, eh? But I think he was a secret drinker, and went on those sprees about every two months. Why not? Did him good, I say. Made him human. Why, before I was married I did it myself. Hum." Standish coughed. "Hey, what's the harm, if nobody sees you? He was anxious for nobody to see him. Dignity. After I'd barged in on him, he made that valet of his sit in the hall outside his study door, every night, damme! — every night, in case somebody dropped in and he wasn't ready." Hadley frowned.
"Did it every occur to you, colonel, that he had something on his mind?"
"Eh? Something on his mind? Tosh, tosh! Nonsense. What would he have on his mind? He was a widower— he'd got pots of money—"
"Go on, please. What else did you know about him?"
Standish fidgeted. "Not much. He didn't — mix, d'ye see? Fell in with Burke, my partner, and invested a dashed sight with us. Said he'd always wanted to read for a publisher, and, by Jove, he did! He took all the heavy stuff nobody else would touch. You know— somebody's treatise on something, that took seven years to write, or what not; bundle about six inches thick, all interlined so you can't read it, and author sending you letters every other day. Bah."
"Had he any relatives?"
Standish's red face was complacent, and then grew uneasy. "I say, this will knock the stuffing out of… H'm, yes. He'd a daughter. Dem'd fine gel. None of your hussies, d'ye see, that knock you off the road in a two-seater, d'ye see?" said the colonel viciously. "Fine gel, even if she does live in France. Used to worry Depping no end, what she might be up to. He'd kept her in a convent, though, till she was of age, so maybe she liked France, but God knows why. Ha. I said, "Right, right; time she was married.' And the gel and my son—" He brooded. "There's always something, — eh?"
Hadley’s eyes moved about the group. They rested on the bishop, who seemed about to speak; so Hadley went on quickly: