“Is she in the house I pay rent and taxes for in Saint Mary Axe?” demanded Fledgeby.

“No, sir.”

“Is she in your garden up atop of that house⁠—gone up to be dead, or whatever the game is?” asked Fledgeby.

“No, sir.”

“Where is she then?”

Riah bent his eyes upon the ground, as if considering whether he could answer the question without breach of faith, and then silently raised them to Fledgeby’s face, as if he could not.

“Come!” said Fledgeby. “I won’t press that just now. But I want to know this, and I will know this, mind you. What are you up to?”

The old man, with an apologetic action of his head and hands, as not comprehending the master’s meaning, addressed to him a look of mute inquiry.