"But here it is, anyway," he said. "And—there you are! In the possession of the knowledge of it. And so—you'll excuse me—I must ask a question. Who are you? Tourists? Or—do you live hereabouts?"
The other man made a remark under his breath, in some foreign language, eyeing me the while. And Baxter spoke again watching me.
"I think you, at any rate, are a resident?" he said. "My friend has seen you before in these parts."
"I have seen him," I said unthinkingly. "I saw him amongst the people at Salter Quick's inquest."
The faintest shadow of an understanding glance passed between the two men, and Baxter's face grew stern.
"Just so!" he remarked. "That makes it all the more necessary to repeat my question. Who are you—both?"
"My name is Middlebrook, if you must know," I answered. "And I am not a resident of these parts—I am visiting here. As for this lady, she is Miss Raven, the niece of Mr. Francis Raven, of Ravensdene Court. And really—"
He waved his hand as if to deprecate any remonstrance or threat on my part, and bowed as politely to my companion as if I had just given him a formal introduction to her.
"No harm shall come to you, Miss Raven," he said, with evidently honest assurance. "None whatever!"
"Nor to Mr. Middlebrook, either, I should hope!" exclaimed Miss Raven, almost indignantly.