“It was the stammering-man,” said Pen, not very lucidly. “Of course, I quite see that I should have been more careful.”
“You mean Beverley Brandon. What has he been doing?”
“Well, you see, he came here. And just at that very same moment, I chanced to walk into the inn, and—and we met.”
“When was this?”
“Oh, not long ago! You were gone out. Only he seemed to know me.”
“Seemed to know you?”
“Well, he said surely I must be your nephew,” Pen explained.
Sir Richard had been listening to her with a gathering frown. He said now, with a grim note which she had not before heard in his voice: “Beverley knows very well that the only nephew I have is a child in short petticoats.”
“Oh, have you got a nephew?” enquired Pen, diverted.
“Yes. Never mind that. What did you reply?”