It appeared that Mr Ghoosh was an Indian. Miss Chubb confided that at first she had been rather perturbed at the idea of taking in “a black man,” as she confessed to regarding him. She reiterated, however, that Mr Ghoosh proved to be “quite the gentleman.” Five minutes of affability put Carrados in full possession of Mr Ghoosh’s manner of life and movements—the dates of his arrival and departure, his solitariness and his daily habits.
“This would be the best bedroom,” said Miss Chubb.
It was a fair-sized room on the first floor. The window looked out on to the roof of an outbuilding; beyond, the deep cutting of the railway line. Opposite stood the dead wall that Mr Carlyle had spoken of.
Carrados “looked” round the room with the discriminating glance that sometimes proved so embarrassing to those who knew him.
“I have to take a little daily exercise,” he remarked, walking to the window and running his hand up the woodwork. “You will not mind my fixing a ‘developer’ here, Miss Chubb—a few small screws?”
Miss Chubb thought not. Then she was sure not. Finally she ridiculed the idea of minding with scorn.
“If there is width enough,” mused Carrados, spanning the upright critically. “Do you happen to have a wooden foot-rule convenient?”
“Well, to be sure!” exclaimed Miss Chubb, opening a rapid succession of drawers until she produced the required article. “When we did out this room after Mr Ghoosh, there was this very ruler among the things that he hadn’t thought worth taking. This is what you require, sir?”
“Yes,” replied Carrados, accepting it, “I think this is exactly what I require.” It was a common new white-wood rule, such as one might buy at any small stationer’s for a penny. He carelessly took off the width of the upright, reading the figures with a touch; and then continued to run a finger-tip delicately up and down the edges of the instrument.
“Four and seven-eighths,” was his unspoken conclusion.