VI
IN the process of time the clock on the drawing-room chimneypiece chimed six and Josiah “stepped round” to Lawyer Mossop’s.
That celebrity lived at The Gables, the next house but one along The Rise. Outwardly a more modest dwelling than Strathfieldsaye, it was less modern in style, more reticent, more compact. As Josiah walked up the drive he noted with approval its well kept appearance and its fine display of rhododendrons, phlox, delphiniums, purple irises and many other things that spoke to him. He was a genuine lover of flowers.
Mr. Munt’s pressure of the electric button was answered by a manservant in a starched shirt and a neat black cutaway. The visitor noted him carefully as he noted everything. “I wonder what he pays a month for that jockey!” was the form the memorandum took on the tablets of his mind.
“Mr. Mossop in?”
“If you’ll come this way I’ll inquire, sir.”
Josiah was led across a square-tiled hall, covered in the center by a Persian rug, into a room delightfully cool, with a large window in a western angle opening on to a pergola ablaze with roses, along which the westering sun streamed amazingly.
“What name, sir?”
“Hey?” Josiah frowned. As if there was a man, woman or child in Blackhampton who didn’t know him! Still, it was good style. “Munt—Mr. Munt.”