Returning to the inn about tea time, he was angered anew by a telegram from the magazine editor. It read:
News in Pictures wants sketches and photographs of Fenley case and surroundings. Have suggested you for commission. Why not pick up a tenner? Rush drawings by train.
"That's the last straw," growled Trenholme fiercely. He raced out, bought a set of picture postcards showing the village and the Tudor mansion, and dispatched them to the editor of News in Pictures with his compliments. Coming back from the station, he passed the Easton lodge of The Towers. A daring notion seized him, and he proceeded to put it into practice forthwith. He presented himself at the gate, and was faced by Mrs. Bates and a policeman. Taught by experience to beware of strangers that day, the keeper's wife gazed at him through an insurmountable iron palisade. The constable merely surveyed him with a professional air, as one who would interfere if needful.
"I am calling on Miss Sylvia Manning," announced Trenholme promptly.
"By appointment, sir?"
"No, but I have reason to believe that she would wish to see me."
"My orders are that nobody is to be admitted to the house without written instructions, sir."
"How can Miss Manning give written instructions unless she knows I am here?"
"Them's my orders," said Mrs. Bates firmly.
"But," he persisted, "it really amounts to this—that you decide whether or not Miss Manning wishes to receive me, or any other visitor."