"Cheerio, and thank you," said he, smiling genially upon me.
He seemed to me more self-possessed and less eccentric than he had appeared upon our arrival. I determined to draw him out.
"It's funny that an Australian should have owned an hotel away up in the Welsh hills," I hazarded. "Did he die recently?"
"Australia? You must have misunderstood me," said Mr. Gunthorpe with a hunted look in his eyes. "Very likely—very likely I said Ostend."
"Ostend? Well, possibly I did," I agreed, feeling certain that I had made no mistake. "Had he a hotel there as well?"
"Yes, yes. Of course, of course, of course," agreed the landlord, largely redundant.
"And are you running that as well?"
"Heaven forbid!" he exclaimed, with a shudder. "You see ... this—this is just a small legacy. It'll be all right by and by. All right, all right. Let's have another drink."
"With me," I insisted.
"Not at all, not at all. On the house. All for the good of the house. Come along, Bob, have a drink!"