‘Already married?’ one guesses.
‘Declines to marry?’ another guesses.
‘Codicil among the dust?’ another guesses.
‘Why, no,’ says Mortimer; ‘remarkable thing, you are all wrong. The story is completer and rather more exciting than I supposed. Man’s drowned!’
Chapter 3
ANOTHER MAN
As the disappearing skirts of the ladies ascended the Veneering staircase, Mortimer, following them forth from the dining-room, turned into a library of bran-new books, in bran-new bindings liberally gilded, and requested to see the messenger who had brought the paper. He was a boy of about fifteen. Mortimer looked at the boy, and the boy looked at the bran-new pilgrims on the wall, going to Canterbury in more gold frame than procession, and more carving than country.
‘Whose writing is this?’
‘Mine, sir.’