“Well, I couldn't say offhand,” said Mr Brown vaguely. “A goodish time. Somewhere round about seven or eight years, I think.”
“What age man is he? What does he look like?”
“He's nothing particular to look at. I don't know as I could hardly describe him. He hasn't got the sort of face you can take hold of. Middle-aged, he is, and keeps himself to himself. What do you want with him?”
“That's my business. How often does he come here?”
“Pretty often,” Mr Brown said sullenly.
“Come along, answer! Does he come here every day?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes not. It ain't nothing to do with me. He comes as he pleases.”
“When did you see him last?”
“I told you. It was last Tuesday. I ain't laid eyes on him since.”
“Did he say he was going away?”