Ethel Hargrave turned with a startled expression on her face.

 

"What do you mean?" she asked. "Is there anything wrong, aunt? You both look as though something dreadful had happened."

 

"Never mind that for a moment," Westlake interrupted. "It so happens that I am particularly interested in this Mr. Charlock. Tell me, what is the gentleman like?"

 

"I like him," Ethel went on, "though he does remind one strongly of a bulldog. He has a tenacious¹, fighting face. But I always was fond of bulldogs. They are such gentle, faithful creatures when you come to understand them."

 

"You have been talking to him," Mrs. Rent murmured.

 

"Oh, dear, yes. We had quite a long conversation. Our introduction was as unconventional as the most bohemian could have wished. Mr. Charlock came up the drive carrying a poor little terrier in his arms. I fancy the dog had been run over, for it was bleeding from a wound in the side, and making a horrid² mess of Mr. Charlock's grey flannel³ suit, which fact I ventured to point out to him. He didn't even take the trouble to reply. He was too busy with the dog. I suppose this incident impressed me favourably⁴. Only a really kind-hearted man would have taken all that trouble about a toy-terrier."

 

Mrs. Rent and Westlake did not appear to be listening. The solicitor⁵ turned to his hostess and elevated his eyebrows⁶.

 

"This is certain to be the same man," he said. "The circumstance is so extraordinary that it could not be anybody else. I think there is one thing we can count upon—he has not come to make any disturbance⁷. I should not be surprised to find him

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