“Then is Mr Stratton coming back soon to the inn, sir?”
“I can’t tell you, Mrs Brade.”
“Then can you tell me where Mr Brettison is, sir?”
“That’s two questions, Mrs Brade.”
“Well, yes, sir, it is; but if you only knew the agony I suffer from the thought of those two sets of chambers being allowed to go to rack and ruin, you’d pity me.”
“Well, it does seem tiresome to any lady of orderly mind, of course.”
“It’s ’orrid, sir. There’s the dust, and the soot falling down the chimbleys without a bit of fire, and the mice, and, for aught I know, the rats. Really, sir, there are times when I almost wish the chambers was empty, that I do.”
“Well, have patience, Mrs Brade,” said Guest. “I think I can see an improvement in Mr Stratton, and I hope soon to get him to come back—but I don’t know when it’s likely to be,” he muttered as he crossed the square on the chance of seeing a light in his friend’s window, and this time it was there.
He hurried up to find, after knocking several times, that Stratton had evidently only just come, for he was standing there in overcoat and hat, and he would have stepped out at once had not Guest shown so decided an intention of coming in.
“Do you want me?” said Stratton uneasily; and Guest’s heart sank, for his friend looked more careworn than ever.