"Damme, if you're not the fence as was here afore, criss-crossing at our old woman! Tell us your name."
The voice was husky, but it had, nevertheless, a note or two of the voice of Paul Ritson.
"That will be unnecessary," said Hugh Ritson, with complete self-possession. "We've met before," he added, smiling.
"The deuce we have—where?"
"You slept at the Pack Horse at Keswick rather more than a week ago," said Hugh.
Drayton betrayed no surprise.
"Last Saturday night you were active at the fire that almost destroyed the old mill at Newlands."
Drayton's sullen face was immovable.
"By the way," said Hugh, elevating his voice and affecting a sudden flow of spirits, "I owe you my personal thanks for your exertions. What do you drink—brandy?"
Going to the door, he called for a bottle of brandy and glasses.