“We passed him on the road,” he said; “I was struck by the likeness to someone I knew, and I 11 thought there could not be two boys so like in Whitmansworth. You were master here when he was admitted?”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Aston. It was in November last, on a Thursday night, I remember, because service was on. The mother was clean exhausted, and was taken to the infirmary at once and––”
Mr. Aston interposed.
“Christopher, go out and stay by the carriage till I call you, and ask the gentleman—Mr. Stapleton—to come in here.”
And James Christopher Hibbault obeyed without so much as a glance for permission at Mr. Moss.
He delivered his message and then interviewed the groom, who seemed used to waiting. The tea bell rang, but Jim, though hungry, never thought of disobeying his orders. The hall porter came out and went off on his bicycle and presently returned with Mr. Page, one of the Board gentlemen.
The groom eventually grew communicative and told Jim the horses’ names were Castor and Pollux, and there wasn’t their match in the country, no more in all London, though to be sure Mr. Aston had some fine horses at Marden Court.
“Is that where he lives?” inquired Jim.
It appeared he lived there sometimes, but Mr. Nevil,—Jim did not know who that was—lived there mostly. Mr. Aston spent most of his time in London with Mr. Aymer. They had left London the previous day, Jim learnt, and had been driving to queer out-of-the-way places, always stopping at Unions.
At which point the door opened and Mr. Aston came out, and with him Mr. Page and Mr. and Mrs. Moss and Mr. Stapleton with a bundle of papers in his hand, and all these people looked at Jim in a perplexed way, except Mr. Aston, who appeared quite happy and unconcerned. 12