would I call in at Mortover Grange and just see if Mr. Philip got home all safe the other night, 'cause she'd been very anxious about him."
"What night was that?" asked Wedgwood. "Last night?"
"No—night before that, sir! He was up there at the Drovers' Arms while late—I saw him there, myself—in fact, I saw him set off home. He would go—though the storm was getting bad then, and Mrs. Baxter I heard her praying on him not to go out in—she was pressing on him to stay the night there. But he wouldn't—he wouldn't hear a word fro' nobody, and out into the storm he flung."
"Been drinking, I suppose?" suggested Wedgwood, giving the man a significant look.
"Why, he'd had plenty, mister," assented the messenger. "I'd heard Mrs. Baxter tell him so, not so long before he flung out. I think that had set his back up, d'ye see—so that he wouldn't listen to her when she begged him to stay the night and go to bed there and then. He'd a queer temper if he were crossed or affronted."
"What time would it be when he left the Drovers' Arms?" asked Wedgwood.
"Getting on to closing time—ten o'clock," replied the man.
