‘Dear me!’ He paused yet longer, and cleared his voice. ‘Is Mr. Downe, the solicitor, still in practice?’
‘No, sir, he’s dead. He died about seven years ago.’
Here it was a longer silence still; and an attentive observer would have noticed that the paper in the stranger’s hand increased its imperceptible tremor to a visible shake. That gray-haired gentleman noticed it himself, and rested the paper on the counter. ‘Is Mrs. Downe still alive?’ he asked, closing his lips firmly as soon as the words were out of his mouth, and dropping his eyes.
‘Yes, sir, she’s alive and well. She’s living at the old place.’
‘In East Street?’
‘O no; at Château Ringdale. I believe it has been in the family for some generations.’
‘She lives with her children, perhaps?’
‘No; she has no children of her own. There were some Miss Downes; I think they were Mr. Downe’s daughters by a former wife; but they are married and living in other parts of the town. Mrs. Downe lives alone.’
‘Quite alone?’
‘Yes, sir; quite alone.’