Chapter Twenty One.
Sharks by Land and Water.
Mr Brandram’s abrupt summons to Mr Armstrong was not due to the reappearance on the scene of the mysterious Robert Ratman. It was, in fact, at the instance of Miss Rosalind Oliphant that the doctor sent his message.
That young lady had returned a week ago to find everything at Maxfield awry. Her father was gloomy, mysterious, and haggard. The rumour of Mr Ratman’s extraordinary claims had become the common property of the village. Roger and his tutor were away, no one exactly knew where or on what errand.
On the day following her return she walked across from the Vicarage to visit her father.
He sat in the library, abstracted, pale, and limp. The jaunty, Anglo-Indian veneer had for the time being dropped off, unmasking the worried exterior of a chicken-hearted man.
At the sight of his daughter he pulled himself together, and crushed in his hand the letter which he had been reading.
“Why, my child,” said he, with unusual cordiality, “this is a pleasant apparition. Cruel girl, to desert us for so long. We have hardly existed without you, Roger and his tutor are away in France holiday-making, while I remain here on duty with no one to cheer me up.”
“Dear father,” said Rosalind, kissing him, “how worried you look! What is the matter? Won’t you tell me?”