Twice over he went back to the hall, but the drawing-room stood open, and the place was wonderfully quiet and still.
“Anyone would think he was master here,” said one of the men, as he saw Dasent pass by the third time. “Won’t be much he don’t know about the place when he’s done.”
“Shouldn’t wonder if he is,” said the other. “Him and his father’s lawyers, and the guv’nor don’t seem none too chirpy just now. They say he is in Queer Street.”
“Who’s they?” said his companion, speaking indistinctly, consequent upon having two nails and a shred between his lips.
“Why, they. I dunno, but it’s about that they’ve been a bit awkward with the guv’nor at Bramwich Bank.”
“That’s nothing. Life’s all ups and downs. It won’t hurt us. We shall get our wages, I dessay. They’re always paid.”
The afternoon wore on and at dusk Garstang and Claud made their appearance, followed by a labourer carrying a basket, which was too short to hold the head and tail of a twelve-pound pike, which lay on the top of half-a-dozen more.
“Better have come with us, Harry,” said Claud. “Had some pretty good sport. Found it dull?”
“I? No,” was the reply. “I say, what time do you dine to-night?”
“Old hour—six.”