"Now, Mr. Walker," he said curtly, "would you mind telling me exactly what happened at Elmdale this afternoon?"
James sat down. Unfortunately, the furniture provided a placid harmony in oak, so the seat of the chair was hard, even though it shone with the subdued polish of a hundred years of careful use and elbow grease applied by many generations of vigorous housemaids.
"With your permission, sir, I—er—think I'd better begin—er—a little earlier."
"What's the matter? Isn't that chair comfortable?"
Mr. Dobb was clerk to the magistrates in the Nuttonby Petty Sessions; his pet abhorrence was a fidgety witness, and Walker was obviously ill at ease.
"The fact is, sir, I'm a bit saddle-galled. If you don't mind——"
"Certainly. Take that easy chair. What occurred 'a little earlier' which you think I ought to know?"
Walker had been disagreeably reminded of Armathwaite, but he kept a venomous tongue well under control. He told the lawyer the circumstances under which Armathwaite, confessedly a complete stranger, had entered into the tenancy of the Grange, and described the journey to Elmdale, together with the curious behavior of the Jackson family. He was scrupulously accurate in his account of the cause and extent of his visit that day, even going so far as to admit that there was "a sort of a scuffle" between Armathwaite and himself.
Mr. Dobb listened in silence. At the end, he fixed a singularly penetrating glance on the narrator.
"In plain English, I suppose," he said, "this man, Armathwaite, bundled you out neck and crop?"