“Well,” he replied thoughtfully, “I’ve met a good many men who might answer to that description. What is he?”
“I don’t exactly know. I’ve met him on the Continent.”
“And I suppose some people one meets at Continental hotels are undesirables, aren’t they?” he said.
I nodded in the affirmative.
Then I asked—
“You’ve never known a person named Shuttleworth—Edmund Shuttleworth? Lives at a little village close to Andover.”
“Shuttleworth!” he echoed, looking straight into my face. “What do you know of Edmund Shuttleworth?” he asked quickly.
“Very little. Do you know him?”
“Er—well—no, not exactly,” was his faltering reply, and I saw in his slight hesitation an intention to conceal the actual knowledge which he possessed. “I’ve heard of him—through a friend of mine—a lady friend.”
“A lady! Who’s she?” I inquired quickly.