“Indeed,” said the little man cheerfully, “this has not been a wasted morning. I have made the acquaintance of a man who in some ways resembles my far-off friend. By the way, I should like to ask you a question. You doubtless know everyone in this tiny village. Who is the young man with the very dark hair and eyes, and the handsome face. He walks with his head flung back, and an easy smile on his lips?”

The description left me in no doubt. “That must be Captain Ralph Paton,” I said slowly.

“I have not seen him about here before?”

“No, he has not been here for some time. But he is the son⁠—adopted son, rather⁠—of Mr. Ackroyd of Fernly Park.”

My neighbour made a slight gesture of impatience. “Of course, I should have guessed. Mr. Ackroyd spoke of him many times.”