"Well, Sir Anthony?" the mayor was saying. "Does that description fit your man?"
My lord frowned thoughtfully.
"Tall," he said slowly, "and fat—you said fat, I think, Mr. Chilter?"
Rather anxiously Mr. Chilter reiterated this statement.
"Ah! And with a long scar—yes, that is undoubtedly he. Furthermore," he added audaciously, "he has a squint in his left eye. 'Tis a most ill-favoured rogue in all."
"It would appear so, Sir Anthony," remarked the mayor drily. He did not in the least believe the story of the squint, and imagined that the fine court gentleman was amusing himself at their expense. Nevertheless, he had no intention of remonstrating; the sooner he could withdraw from this very tiresome affair the better. So he gravely took down all the absurd particulars, remarked that the man should be easy to find, and made ready to depart.
The town-clerk rose, and tapped the beadle on the shoulder, whereupon that worthy, with a grunt, abandoned his pose of masterly inactivity and followed the mayor out of the room.
Mr. Fudby rose.
"I doubt I shall never see my money again," he said pettishly. "If you, Chilter had not been so—"
"Allow me to offer you some snuff, Mr. Chilter," interposed my lord gently, extending his jewelled box. "Doubtless, sir, you would wish to see my mare?"