As a fitting end to the strange story of wayward love and maniacal frenzy which found an unusual habitat in a secluded hamlet like Steynholme, a small vignette of its normal life may be etched in. The trope is germane to the scene.
On a wet afternoon in October Hobbs and Elkin had adjourned to the Hare and Hounds. Tomlin was reading a newspaper spread on the bar counter. He was alone. The day was Friday, and the last “commercial” of the week had departed by the mid-day train.
“Wot’s yer tonic?” demanded the butcher.
“A glass of beer,” threw Elkin over his shoulder. He had walked to the window, and was gazing moodily at the sign of the “plumber and decorator” who had taken Siddle’s shop. The village could not really support an out-and-out chemist, so a local grocer had elected to stock patent medicines as a side line.
Tomlin made play with a beer-pump.
“Where’s yer own?” inquired Hobbs hospitably.
Elkin came and drank. After an interlude, Tomlin ran a finger down a column of the newspaper.
“By the way, Fred, didn’t you tell me about that funny little chap, Furno, the ’tec, buyin’ some pictures of yours?” he said.
“I did. Had him there, anyhow,” chuckled Elkin.