And Mr. Armathwaite went out.
The Walkers watched as he crossed the road, and entered the bank. Their side of the street being higher than the other, they could see, above the frosted lower half of the bank's window, that he approached the counter, and was ushered into the manager's private room.
"What d'ye make of it, dad?" inquired the "nut," forgetting his importance in the absorbing interest of the moment.
"Dad" tickled his bald scalp with the handle of the pen.
"Tell you what," he said solemnly. "Some houses have an attraction for queer folk. Whoever built the Grange where it is must have been daft. The people who lived there when I was a young man were a bit touched. Mr. Garth was mad, we know, an' Mrs. Wilkins was the silliest woman I ever met. Now comes this one."
"He looks all right."
"You never can tell. At any rate, we'll take his money, and welcome. I asked sixty, but wouldn't have sneezed at forty. Neither would Holloway & Dobb; they've some costs to collect since the Wilkins' affair. Go and get the trap ready. And mind you, Jim, no hanky-panky."
The youthful Walker winked.
"You leave that to me," he said. "What about the fee—will he stand a guinea?"
"You might try it, at any rate."