From the opposite side of the street Randall watched them descend the steps of the carriage, and enter the house. He paused long enough afterwards to cross the street, note down the name of Bowman together with the number, that he might be able to identify it hereafter. He then examined the house itself with some curiosity. The appearance of the house indicated clearly enough the wealth of the owner.
"I wish I knew," muttered the mate, "on what footing Mrs. Codman resides here. She must either be the wife of the proprietor or his housekeeper, one or the other."
At this moment an infirm old woman limped out of the side-gate, with a basket slung on her arm.
Pressing forward, he accosted her.
"You seem heavily laden, my good woman."
"Yes," said she, "thanks to the good lady who lives in the house."
"What is her name?"
"It's Mrs. Codman. Do you know her, sir?"
"I am not sure. I once knew some one of the name. But there is a different name on the door—Bowman."