"Well," I said, "that is not very surprising, is it? His friends were almost certain to turn up sooner or later."
"His friends! But do you know who it is?" she asked.
I sank resignedly into one of Mrs. Moyat's wool-work covered chairs.
An absurd little canary was singing itself hoarse almost over my head.
I half closed my eyes. How many more problems was I to be confronted
with during these long-drawn-out days of mystery?
"Oh, I do not know," I declared. "I am sure I do not care. I am sorry that I ever asked you for one moment to keep your counsel about the fellow. I never saw him, I do not know who he was, I know nothing about him. And I don't want to, Miss Moyat. He may have been prince or pedlar for anything I care."
"Well, he wasn't an ordinary person, after all," she declared, with an air of mystery. "Have you heard of the lady who's taken Braster Grange? She's a friend of Lord Blenavon's. He's always there."
"I have heard that there is such a person," I answered wearily.
"She's been making inquiries right and left—everywhere. There's a notice in yesterday's Wells Gazette, and a reward of fifty pounds for any one who can give any information about him sufficient to lead to identification."
"If you think," I said, "that you can earn the pounds, pray do not let me stand in your way."
She looked at me with a fixed intentness which I found peculiarly irritating.
"You don't think that I care about the fifty pounds," she said, coming over and standing by my chair.