“Can’t forgive ’isself, I reckon, for they things he said about young Redfern. ’Twere summat o’ that, so folks do tell I, what stole the heart out o’ that young gentleman and made ’un turn to the wall. Leastways there were some folks as told ’un ’twere what he did say, down here, at Farmer’s Rest bar, that turned that young man’s poor heart to stone. ’Twould have jostled me wone innards, I tell ’ee, if any well-thought-of landlord spoke such words of I.”

“What did he say about Redfern?” enquired Wolf, suppressing the absurd image that rose in his mind of a Mr. Torp lacerated by moral disquietude.

His father-in-law, however, at that moment saw fit to display a revived interest in the game of bowls.

“Look-see!” he cried, tapping Wolf on the knee, and leaning forward. “By jiggers, if that girt flunkey from up at House aren’t making Mr. Malakite look like nothing!”