came to live near us, and his words proved true. Before they had been quite four months in our neighbourhood there was a dreadful scandal and a miserable breakup in their household. Both of them were in fault—I am afraid both of them were equally in fault.”
“You mean both husband and wife?”
“Oh, no, sir! I don’t mean Catherick—he was only to be pitied. I meant his wife and the person—”
“And the person who caused the scandal?”
“Yes, sir. A gentleman born and brought up, who ought to have set a better example. You know him, sir—and my poor dear Anne knew him only too well.”
“Sir Percival Glyde?”
“Yes, Sir Percival Glyde.”
My heart beat fast—I thought I had my hand on the clue. How little I knew then of the windings of the labyrinths which were still to mislead me!
“Did Sir Percival live in your neighbourhood at that time?” I asked.
“No, sir. He came among us as a stranger. His father had died not long before in foreign parts. I remember he was in mourning. He put up at the little inn on the river (they have pulled it down since that time), where gentlemen used to go to fish. He wasn’t much noticed when he first came—it was a common thing enough for gentlemen to travel from all parts of England to fish in our river.”
“Did he make his appearance in the village before Anne was born?”