"Well, he is a bit haughty sometimes," acknowledged the carpenter. "Folks have found him so. He is just home from Oxford, sir, and I fancy has been spending pretty freely there: Lamb just gave me a hint. But if you want pleasant words and cordial manners, you must go to the nephew, Mr. Frank.
"What is he doing here?" dryly asked the stranger, after a pause.
"He is a doctor, sir."
"A doctor? Is he in practice here?"
"Oh no. He is waiting to set up in London, and staying down here till he does it."
"What is he waiting for?"
"Well, sir, for money, I guess. The Raynors are open-natured people and don't scruple to talk of things before their servants, so that there's not much but what's known. When the late Mrs. Atkinson died, a good deal of stir arose about some money of hers that could not be found: thousands and thousands of pounds, it was said. It could neither be found, nor the papers relating to it."
"Is it not found yet?" asked the Tiger, stroking his silky beard.
"Not yet. The major is anxiously waiting for it: not a day passes, Lamb says, but he is sure to remark that it may turn up the next. Mr. Frank Raynor is to have some of this money to set him up in practice."
"Did Mrs. Atkinson not leave any money to him? He must have been a relation of hers?"