Three days of inaction passed, and George had not seen fit to desert his country retreat. It was slow work walking, eating, and drinking, and the new master of Fairbrothers' was beginning to fall back on the philosophy of the ancients, that wealth and position invariably have their disadvantages.
This morning it was raining, and he stood at the inn door debating whether he should brave the elements or retire to the bar-parlour. The problem was solved for him swiftly in an unexpected fashion. A carrier's cart, much bespattered and glistening with wet, had turned a bend in the road and was now approaching the inn at a jog-trot. As George looked at the man tucked up under the hood behind the old white horse, another face peering from between the parcels attracted his attention. A keen glance satisfied him that this belonged to no other person in the world than Mrs. Gray's husband.
He turned indoors and went upstairs swiftly and silently. There was nobody about, and George slipped into his bedroom, holding the door open that he might the better hear any conversation which ensued. He anticipated some lively proceedings.
"Early?" said the landlord. "Yes, the gentleman's out, I think."
"Indeed!" said the voice of Gray. "Perhaps you'll be so good as to make sure that he is out, if you please. It's very important that I should see him now."
"Perhaps I will," said the landlord, "and perhaps I won't." The fact that Gray had not ordered anything, but had only asked for a visitor in a peremptory voice, did not help to recommend him.
"You might give me a whisky," said Gray, in a milder tone, observing his mistake. "Do you think Mr. Early will be long before he comes back?"
The landlord didn't know, but called to the stable-boy and told him to see if Mr. Early was in his bedroom.
"I'll go with him, if you don't mind," said Gray.
George seized his hat as these remarks reached him, and looked about the room. There was no way out, so he promptly crawled under the bed.