"As a foe?" repeated Mr. Castlemaine.
"At present. Until I get an answer to the question I have come to put. What have you done with Basil's son?"
A change passed over the face of Mr. Castlemaine: it was evident to anybody who might be looking at him; a dark look, succeeded by a flush. Squire Dobie broke the momentary silence.
"My old friend Basil's son; Basil the Careless: young Anthony Castlemaine."
The Master of Greylands was himself again. "I do not understand you," he said, with slow distinctness. "I have done nothing with the young man."
"Then rumour belies you, James Castlemaine."
"I assure you, Squire Dobie, that I know no more whither young Anthony Castlemaine went, or where he is now than you know. It has been a mystery to myself, as to every one else at Greylands."
"I got home to Dobie Hall last week," continued the stranger; "mean to stay at it, now; have only made flying visits to it since it became mine through poor Tom's death. Drove into Stilborough yesterday for the first time; put up at the Turk's Head. Landlord, old Will Heyton, waited on me himself this morning at breakfast, talking of the changes and what not, that years have brought, since I and poor Tom, and Basil the Reckless, and other rollicking blades used to torment the inn in the years gone by. We got to speak of Basil; 'twas only natural; and he told me that Basil had died abroad about last Christmas tune; and that his son, named Anthony, had come over soon after to put in his claim to his patrimony, Greylands' Rest. He said that Anthony had suddenly disappeared one night; and was thought to have been made away with."
During this short explanation, they had not moved. The speaker stood just within the door, which Miles had closed, Mr. Castlemaine facing him a few paces distant. Madame Guise, waiting for Flora, had turned to the stranger, her face changing to the pallor of the grave. The Master of Greylands caught sight of the pallor, and it angered him: angered him that one should dare to speak of this remarkably unsatisfactory topic in the presence of the ladies of his family, startling and puzzling them. But he controlled his voice and manner to a kind of indifferent courtesy.
"If you will take a seat--and a glass of wine with me, Squire Dobie, I will give you all the information I possess on the subject of young Anthony's disappearance. It is not much; it does not really amount to anything: but such as it is, you shall hear it.--My wife, Mrs. Castlemaine. Sophia," turning to her as he made the introduction, "you had finished, I know: be so good as to leave us to ourselves."