"Jervis," said the postman, pausing for a moment.
"Hall," answered the officer, as if delivering a countersign, and flashed his bull's-eye on the weather-beaten face of the first speaker, "a shocking night, ain't it? Rain and fog, and bitter cold."
"Why not? 'Tain't June roses as you'll smell in November, Jervis."
"No, worse luck, and night dooty ain't no catch at this time of the year. Now, I'll be bound, Hall, as you're nearly finished, and can get home to your warm bed sharp."
"And to tripe and onions, as my old woman does do a turn, Jervis," said Hall, licking his lips. "I've only got this one letter to deliver to Sir Hector Wyke, as folks is talking about so."
"Don't see why they should talk," said the officer bluffly. "Sir Hector pays his way and keeps himself quiet. Ain't any of my business, or of yours."
"But he never sees no one, and never comes out, and never has any callers."
"He's got one to-night," said Jervis unexpectedly. "You know Sankey?"
"Him as drives the trap to and fro this place and Redleigh?"
Jervis nodded and stuck his big thumbs in his belt. "Got a rotten old fly on the job. Well, I saw it to-night with a fare in it, when Sankey stopped to ask me where Maranatha was. I gave him the tip as it was in Ladysmith Road, so Sankey drove off. I wonder his blessed old nag did the three miles without falling a corpse."