On their way home down the right-of-way they talked long and earnestly over all that the drunken artist had said.
"It is well known," Charles said at last, "that you can't set much store by what a drunken man may say, but on the other hand it's always on the cards that he'll let out something he didn't mean to. I feel that M. Louis Duval may be worth a little close investigation."
"What surprised me," Peter remarked, "was the way Wilkes bore with him. I expected to, see Duval kicked out."
"If he's in the habit of eating his meals at the Bell you can understand Wilkes humouring him. And apparently he's not always tight by any means. The most intriguing thing about him was his interest in the Monk. I don't know what you feel about it, but I should say he knew a bit about monks."
"I'm all for getting on his tracks," Peter answered. "At the same time, he was so dam' fishy and mysterious that I'm inclined to think it was a bit too sinister to mean anything. Think he is the Monk?"
"Can't say. If I knew what the Monk was after I should find this problem easier to solve."
They walked on for some time in silence. Peter broke it by saying suddenly: "I don't know. It was typical drunken rot when you come to think of it. All that stuff about the Monk walking up and downstairs though we don't see him, and watching us though we don't know it. You can't get much sense out of that. Ghost-twaddle."
"I was thinking of something else he said," Charles said slowly. "I'd rather like to know what he meant by no one ever having seen the Monk's face, not even himself. That wasn't quite the usual ghost-talk we hear in this place."
"N-no. But I'm not sure that it's likely to lead anywhere. Still, I agree he wants looking into."
They had reached the Priory by this time, and agreeing to say nothing of the morning's encounter to the others they went in, and found the three women already seated at the lunch-table.