“Done. That will just give us time to catch the 2:30 train. Good-night, old fellow!”
And they parted.
The next morning Mr Allynne Markworth took a solitary walk citywards. After passing through Temple Bar and the then—undesolated—Fleet Street, he ascended the hill of Ludgate; and turning into a thin row of straggling and seedy old buildings, found himself within the precincts of Doctor’s Commons, sacred to the archives of marriage—one cannot always say love—and death!
Here, having previously invested the sum of one shilling in current coin of the realm, he received permission to examine the “Last will and testament of one Roger Hartshorne, deceased, of the county of Sussex, gentleman,” the perusal of which document appeared to give him much internal satisfaction. His task did not take him long, and he was soon retracing his steps.
On the day after he went down to Sussex, as agreed, with Tom Hartshorne.
Volume One—Chapter Two.
The Sussex Dowager.
Only a simple, and yet special name and appellation—