"Really—" Sir Peter was a little startled this time—"you don't mean to say—"
"Yes. It was a small firm, was Tyson's. But they're big people, I fancy, by now. Old Mr. Tyson left 'em and set up by himself in the wholesale business in Birmingham. He made a mint o' money. I understand he bought one of the best properties in your county; is that so, sir?"
If Mr. Vance had not made coats for Sir Peter for thirty years, he had made them for twenty-five or thereabouts, and he was privileged to gossip.
"Yes, yes, Thorneytoft. Very good property. And a very good sort too, old Mr. Tyson."
"A little peculiar, I'm told."
"Well—perhaps. I had not much acquaintance with the old man myself, but he was very generally respected. I know his nephew, Mr. Nevill Tyson—slightly."
Sir Peter would have died rather than ask a direct question, but he was wildly curious as to Mr. Nevill Tyson's antecedents.
An illuminating smile spread over Mr. Vance's face.
"I remember him when he was a youngster. His father chucked the business, and set up as a Baptist minister—a Particular Baptist."
"Indeed."