"To be caught by Lestrange? No, I think not. He is not such a fool. If you want to see him, you must go to Brighton."
"I shall go to-morrow, Blair. I am most anxious to hear the story of that night."
"A strange story--more like fiction than truth."
"Truth is always stranger than fiction."
Blair assented. They walked on through a steep lane, which led into the High Street of the village. As they breasted this, Mrs. Marry, with a basket on her arm, met them. She was evidently excited.
"Well, Mrs. Marry," said Alan kindly, "what is it?"
"The poor dear isn't dead, after all," cried the panting woman. "I declare, Mr. Thorold, you could ha' knocked me down wi' a feather when I saw him."
"Saw who?"
"Why, Mr. Brown, sir--the Quiet Gentleman. He has come back!"