‘I expect him home daily,’ answered Laura. ‘Are you one of his tenants? I don’t remember to have seen you before.’
‘No, madam. But I am a tenant for all that. Mr. Treverton is ground landlord of a block of houses I own in Beechampton, and there is a question about drainage, and I can’t move a step without reference to him. I shall be very glad to have a few words with him as soon as possible. Drainage is a business that won’t wait, you see, sir,’ the man added, turning to the Vicar.
He was a man of peculiarly polite address, with something of old-fashioned ceremoniousness which rather pleased Mr. Clare.
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to wait till the end of the week,’ said the Vicar. ‘Mr. Treverton has left home upon important business, and I don’t think he can be back sooner than that.’
The stranger was too polite to press the matter further.
‘I thank you very much, sir,’ he said; ‘I must make it convenient to call again.’
‘You had better leave your name,’ said Laura, ‘and I will tell my husband of your visit directly he comes home.’
‘I thank you, madam, there is no occasion to trouble you with any message. I am staying with a friend in the village, and shall call directly I hear Mr. Treverton has returned.’
‘A very superior man,’ remarked the Vicar, when the stranger had raised his hat and walked on briskly enough to be speedily out of earshot. ‘The owner of some of those smart new shops in Beechampton High Street, no doubt. Odd that I should never have seen him before. I thought I knew every one in the town.’
It was a small thing, proving the nervous state into which Laura had been thrown by the troubles of the last few days—even the appearance of this courteous stranger discomposed her, and seemed a presage of evil.