“Does my friend Aylesworth ever come in here?”
“Oh, very often, sir!” replied the woman. “Everybody knows him. He’s such a real cheerful, good-hearted gentleman. He’s always giving away something. It’s a sad thing for many about here that there’s no treating nowadays.”
“Well,” laughed Beryl, “the order is, I hear from my friends, very often broken.”
“You’re right, miss,” the broad, round-faced woman admitted. “You can’t always prevent it, you know, though we folk do all we can, because of our licenses.”
“So my friend Aylesworth is quite popular? I’m glad to hear that,” replied Ronnie. “He lives here constantly nowadays, I suppose?”
“Oh, no, sir! He comes down here just at odd times. Sometimes in the beginning of the week; sometimes for the week-end,” was the reply. “He’s often up in London—on Government contracts, I’ve heard him say.”
Beryl and her lover exchanged shrewd and meaning glances.
“Yes, I know that Mr. Aylesworth must be very busy,” remarked Pryor. “I suppose he comes out here just for quiet and rest?”
“Yes. That’s it, sir,” replied the inn-keeper’s wife. “Only the other day he called in here, and was saying that he was so busy that it was a complete change to come here to the moors for rest and fresh air.”
“You’ve had Zepps over here lately, I’ve heard. Is that true?” inquired Ronnie.