he could withdraw from this very tiresome affair the better. So he gravely took down all the absurd particulars, remarked that the man should be easy to find, and made ready to depart.
The town-clerk rose, and tapped the beadle on the shoulder, whereupon that worthy, with a grunt, abandoned his pose of masterly inactivity and followed the mayor out of the room.
Mr. Fudby rose.
“I doubt I shall never see my money again,” he said pettishly. “If you, Chilter, had not been so———”
“Allow me to offer you some snuff, Mr. Chilter,” interposed my lord gently, extending his jewelled box. “Doubtless, sir, you would wish to see my mare?”
“I know nought of horses,” snorted Mr. Fudby. “’Tis my clerk who appears to have remarked all the details.” He sneered terrifically.
“Then pray, do me the honour of walking as far as the stables, Mr. Chilter. ’Twere as well to be certain about the mare. Mr.—ah—Fudby, your servant.”
*****}
“And now, Mr. Chilter, I have a grudge against you,” said Carstares, as they walked across the little garden.
“Me, sir? Oh—er—have you, Sir Anthony?”
He looked up and perceived that the gentleman was laughing.
“Yes, Mr. Chilter, a very serious grudge: you have described me as fat!”
Chilter nearly fainted.
“You, sir,” he gasped, and stared in amazement.
“Also that I swear dreadfully in my speech, and that I have a scar running from my mouth to my chin.”
Mr. Chilter stood stock-still in the middle of the path.
“It was you, sir, all the time? You held us up? Were you the man who wrenched open the door?”
