He saw the vision of Mrs. Southgate in very negligee costume, leaning over the stairs, and behind her a dim suggestion of a domestic and felt some explanation was called for.
“I thought I heard a noise, and came to see what it was,” he said lamely. He felt far from being a hero with these two females watching him, and the worst part was that he was quite sure they were really laughing at him, under the guise of being frightened.
Mrs. Southgate spoke.
“Oh! I expect you heard my ’usband going out a-fishing. ’E always tries ’is luck about this time. But Lord, ’ow you did frighten me, Mr. Fletcher! You see when my ’usband goes it’s so lonely, and what with the storm, and the neighbours not being too respectable.”
“Quite so,” said he irritably, to shut her up, and he made his way to his room.
“A pretty detective you are,” he said bitterly to himself as he slipped into bed.
The morning was bright and clear, and the storm had abated.
As he wandered out of the house the first sight which met him was the innkeeper, hanging out a damp net to dry. For a change he greeted him with a smile.
“Mornin’ sir,” he said “we ’ad a rough night; my missus says you was scared in the night. Lord, no one would come to my place; I expect you ’eard me a-goin’ out.”
“Had any luck?” said Fletcher, knowing quite well, even as a townsman, that the night was far too rough for fishing.