He looked round him and smiled at the thought of Myra transported into such surroundings. The bare walls of the shed with the plaster broken and crumbling away; the filthy floor with a grimy sack thrown before the fenderless fireplace to do service as rug; the two stained deal tables littered with old articles of crockery, remnants of food, articles of attire, all mixed up together; the broken chairs; the grubby bed and bedding in the corner, would make a strange setting for the exotic beauty who at that very moment would probably be stepping from her perfumed bath to don a dainty dressing gown before submitting to the ministrations of her maid.
The old woman watched his glance distrustfully. "You ain't thinking of turning her out, Master?" she whined. "I know very well she's well off where she is, an' you know this ain't no place for the likes of her."
"I might bring her here to see you one day. I'm sure she would be glad to see her mother," he remarked.
The woman rose again from the chair. She spoke with ill-concealed agitation.
"Don't you go for to do it, Master. Don't you do it. I'm quite satisfied so long as I knows she's all right. There ain't no call for her to set eyes on the likes of me. Why, it might happen that she would sick at the sight." Her voice died away and she repeated dully, "Don't you go for to do it!"
"I don't think she would be exactly pleased," remarked Hora. "But make you mind easy, Ma. It's nothing to do with Myra that I want to see you about. You hear a lot of things in this part of the world, and I wondered whether by any chance you have heard lately of Corny Jessel. I have a job for him."
The old woman reseated herself and helped herself thoughtfully to another allowance of gin. "When did I last hear tell of him?" she murmured. "Not so long ago, for certain. The shadder-man, you mean, ain't it, Master? Corny Jessel, the shadder-man?"
"Yes," said Hora. "The shadow-man."
"My memory ain't what it was," said the old woman disconsolately, "but I'm sure I heard about him only the other day."
Hora lit a cigarette and smoked calmly while the woman racked her memory. At last he was rewarded for his patience.