"You say to the best of your belief, Mr. Tatton. You are not sure, then?"
"I am as sure as I can be, Sir Karl, short of actual sight."
"Good night, Sir Karl."
The interruption came from Mr. Smith, who was leaning over his gate, smoking a pipe. Karl returned the salutation and passed on.
"He seems to have a jolly kind of easy life of it, that agent of yours, Sir Karl?" remarked the officer. "Do you know him?" questioned Karl.
"Only by sight. I have seen Mr. Smith about on the land; and I took the liberty this afternoon, meeting him by chance near the Brook field, of asking him what the time was. The spring of my watch broke last night as I was winding it."
Karl's heart was beating. Had he been mistaken in supposing Philip Smith to be Philip Salter? Had he been nursing a foolish chimera, and running his head--or, rather, his poor brother's head--into a noose for nothing? God help him, then!
"You seem to know my agent well by sight," he breathed, in a tone kept low, lest its agitation should be heard.
"Quite well," assented the officer.
"Is he--does he bear any resemblance to Salter?"