“And you don’t believe the story about the fortune awaiting you somewhere?”
“Well, sir, I wish I could believe it,” was the old man’s answer. “We’ve been awaiting for it long enough, ain’t we?”
I laughed, as though I shared his view with regard to the legend. At that juncture it was not my intention to tell him the object of my inquiries, and when he pressed me I turned the conversation into a different channel.
As I had promised, I went with him across to the Sonde Arms and regaled him with beer. Then when he saw the tangible reward for his communicativeness he endeavoured to assist me further.
“I say, missus, what was the name o’ that there gentleman who stayed ’ere the night afore last? You know—the gentleman who talked such a lot to me in yon little parlour?”
“Oh, he gave his name as Purvis—Charles Purvis, of London, is what he wrote in the book,” answered the landlady. “But I think you were a fool, Ben—a big fool. I didn’t like that man at all. He wanted to know too much about everybody’s business.”
“Yes, he was a bit curious like,” and the old man glanced meaningly at me. “But why was I a fool, missus?”
“Why to sell him that old bit of parchment. If nobody could make it out in Rockingham, there were lots of people up in London who could have read it. Perhaps it has to do with your fortune—you don’t know.”
“What!” I cried, starting to my feet; “did you sell the stranger a parchment? What kind was it?”
“It looked like a deed, or something of the sort,” explained the landlady, “and it’s been in Ben’s family for years and years, they say.”