“Jack, did you observe a gentleman at the head of the stair?”
“Only the head and shoulders o’ one, captain.”
“Head and shoulders; that’s enough. Do you chance to know him?”
“I ain’t thorough sure; but I think he be a Mr Shenstone.”
“Who is Mr Shenstone?”
“The son o’ Sir George.”
“Sir George! What do you know of him?”
“Not much to speak of—only that he be a big gentleman, whose land lies along the river, two or three miles below.”
The information is but slight, and slighter the gratification it gives. Captain Ryecroft has heard of the rich baronet whose estate adjoins that of Llangorren, and whose title, with the property attached, will descend to an only son. It is the torso of this son he has seen above the red sandstone rock. In truth, a formidable rival! So he reflects, smoking away like mad.
After a time, he again observes:—“You’ve said you don’t know the ladies we’ve helped out of their little trouble?”