Peter smiled brilliantly. “Oh,” he said with fine assurance, “but I am.” And he made the carter a low bow, sweeping upward his hat, which he had hitherto held in his hand. The fantastic peacock feather came into view, also Peter concluded the bow with a very diabolical grin.
The man whipped up his horse, casting a terrified glance over his shoulder as he drove off. Peter waved his hat with a mocking laugh.
“And now,” he said, as the sound of the wheels receded in the distance, “it is possible that my [Pg 38]averred friendship with his Satanic Majesty may gain me uninterrupted possession of this place. And—nonsense or not—it is asking me to stay.”
Suddenly, however, it struck Peter that it might be as well for him to lay in a small store of provisions—if such were obtainable in the village—before the statement of his friendship with the powers of evil had been spread by the too credulous carter. Peter was well aware of the superstitions of village folk. Therefore he set off at once down the road.
The village stood for the most part around an open green, to the left of which was the grey church whose square tower he had noticed the previous day. In front of him and on higher ground, half-hidden among the trees, was a white house. It looked of some importance. On the right of the green was the post-office, and next to it a general provision shop.
Peter went into the post-office, where he asked for a penny stamp.
The woman who kept the place was a buxom dame, rosy-cheeked and brown-eyed. Peter thought she might be possessed of conversational [Pg 39]powers. He was right. A small remark of his received a voluble response. He ventured another. It also was received in good part and the dame’s tongue proved nimble.
For full half an hour Peter leant upon the counter, speaking but a word or two at intervals, but finding that they quite sufficed to direct the voluble flow of speech into the channels he desired. The sound of the bell above the shop door alone brought the discourse to a conclusion, as a woman, with a baby in her arms and two children dragging at her skirts, entered. She looked at Peter curiously, then, pulling a shabby purse from her pocket, requested the postmistress to provide her with a penny stamp. She was, so she stated, about to write to her son in South Africa.
Peter came out into the sunlight with vastly more information than he had possessed half an hour previously.
He turned into the provision shop, where he achieved a few purchases, and then made his way again in the direction of the desolate cottage. In his mind he was running through and sorting the information he had received.