“Is he not?” said Mrs. Selldon, much relieved to have found this subject in common. “His wife is a great friend of mine; she is full of life and energy, and does an immense amount of good. Did you say you had stayed with them?”
“No, but last year I took a house in that neighbourhood for a few months; a most charming little place it was, just fit for a lonely bachelor. I dare say you remember it—Ivy Cottage, on the Newton Road.”
“Did you stay there? Now what a curious coincidence! Only this morning I heard from Mrs. Milton-Cleave that Ivy Cottage has been taken this summer by a Mr. Sigismund Zaluski, a Polish merchant, who is doing untold harm in the neighbourhood. He is a very clever, unscrupulous man, and has managed to take in almost every one.”
“Why, what is he? A swindler? Or a burglar in disguise, like the House on the Marsh fellow?” asked the author, with a little twinkle of amusement in his face.
“Oh, much worse than that,” said Mrs. Selldon, lowering her voice. “I assure you, Mr. Shrewsbury, you would hardly credit the story if I were to tell it you, it is really stranger than fiction.” Mark Shrewsbury pricked up his ears, he no longer felt bored, he began to think that, after all, there might be some compensation for this wearisome dinner-party. He was always glad to seize upon material for future plots, and somehow the notion of a mysterious Pole suddenly making his appearance in that quiet country neighbourhood and winning undeserved popularity rather took his fancy. He thought he might make something of it. However, he knew human nature too well to ask a direct question.
“I am sorry to hear that,” he said, becoming all at once quite sympathetic and approachable. “I don’t like the thought of those simple, unsophisticated people being hoodwinked by a scoundrel.”
“No; is it not sad?” said Mrs. Selldon. “Such pleasant, hospitable people as they are! Do you remember the Morleys?”
“Oh yes! There was a pretty daughter who played tennis well.”
“Quite so—Gertrude Morley. Well, would you believe it, this miserable fortune-hunter is actually either engaged to her or on the eve of being engaged! Poor Mrs. Milton-Cleave is so unhappy about it, for she knows, on the best authority, that Mr. Zaluski is unfit to enter a respectable house.”
“Perhaps he is really some escaped criminal?” suggested Mr. Shrewsbury, tentatively.