“Now, Mr Guest,” said Edie as soon as they were alone, “you have something to communicate?”
“Something I want to say, but don’t be quite so businesslike.”
“I must,” she said sharply. “Now tell me: something from—about Mr Stratton.”
He told her of his ill success, and she frowned.
“We don’t want his name mentioned here, and we take not the slightest interest in him; but as you are interested, and as news, of course you can tell me anything. But isn’t his conduct very strange?”
“More than strange.”
“And you can’t find Mr Brettison either?”
“No; but I’m not surprised at that. He’s collecting chickweed and ‘grundsel,’ as Mrs Brade calls it, somewhere. But I shall be glad when he comes back.”
Edie sat thoughtfully for a few minutes.
“You see, directly you cannot get to see him because his doors are shut you begin to think something is wrong.”