CHAPTER XVIII
THE FACE IN THE PICTURE
Mr. Sampson Longvale was taking a gentle constitutional on the strip of path before his untidy house. He wore, as usual—for he was a creature of habit—a long, grey silk dressing-gown, fastened by a scarlet sash. On his head was his silk nightcap, and between his teeth a clay churchwarden pipe, which he puffed solemnly as he walked.
He had just bidden a courteous good night to the help who came in daily to tidy his living-rooms and prepare his simple meals, when he heard the sound of feet coming up the drive. He thought at first it was the woman returning (she had a habit of forgetting things); but when he turned, he saw the unprepossessing figure of a neighbour with whom he was acquainted in the sense that Sir Gregory Penne had twice been abominably rude to him.
The old man watched with immobile countenance the coming of his unwelcome visitor.
“ ’Evening!” growled Penne. “Can I speak to you privately?”
Mr. Longvale inclined his head courteously.
“Certainly, Sir Gregory. Will you come in?”
He ushered the owner of Griff Towers into the long sitting-room and lit the candles. Sir Gregory glanced round, his lips curled in disgust at the worn poverty of the apartment, and when the old man had pushed up a chair for him, it was some time before he accepted the offer.
“Now, sir,” said Mr. Longvale courteously, “to what circumstances do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
“You had some actors staying here the other day?”