“Not by Miss Ranscomb, I am sure.”
“No, by a Mr. Benton, whom I know.”
The old man’s eyebrows narrowed for a second.
“Benton?” he echoed. “Charles Benton—is he?”
“Yes. As he was a friend of my late father I naturally trust him.”
Mr. Peters paused.
“Oh, naturally,” he said a second later. “But where are you living now?”
Hugh told him that he was the guest of Mrs. Bond of Shapley Manor, whereupon Mr. Peters sniffed sharply, and rising, obtained a box of good cigars from a cupboard near the fireplace.
“You went there at Benton’s suggestion?”
“Yes, I did.”