"Of apples. My predecessor used to store them there."
"Well, you should have warned me, then."
"I did," said Gardiner. "If you remember, I told you I was full, and wanted to show you the rooms, and you declined."
"That's right enough," said Trent. He swept up his thick, dark lashes and looked steadily at Gardiner, summing him up. Traveling on, his eyes met and fixed on a photograph that hung on the wall. "Hullo, I know that face," he said in a totally different tone, getting up and going towards it.
"My brother," said Gardiner.
"Your brother? Tom Gardiner of the Sappers is your brother? Why the deuce couldn't you say so before? Here, my good woman—" He held out half-a-crown to Miss Marvin, who nearly dropped it in her indignation, and was only restrained by an imperative sign from Gardiner which sent her out of the room. "Mhow: yes, I was actually with him when this was taken," Trent continued, with the frame in his hand. "I used to see a lot of him in those days. Nice youngster; only a mania for church-goin', and couldn't or wouldn't play bridge. And so you're his brother! What on earth do you want to keep a pot-house for?"
"It's a way of earning your living, like another."
"Leads to misunderstandings, though. Didn't he ever mention me?"
"Yes; but I couldn't be sure you were the same man."
"Well, I wouldn't say I am; times have changed since then," said Trent. He replaced the frame and established himself on the rug, squaring his broad shoulders against the mantelpiece, apparently settling down for a comfortable gossip. "I was a bit of a fire-eater in those days. I remember one time we were out riding—"