"What did you say?" she whispered savagely.
"Said I'd come an' ask."
"You stay 'ere. Don't say nothink."
Mrs. Peckover left the room, closed the door behind her, and went along the passage. On the doorstep stood a man with white hair, wearing an unusual kind of cloak and a strange hat. He looked at the landlady without speaking.
"What was you wantin', mister?"
"I have been told," replied the man in a clear, grave voice, "that a child of the name of Snowdon lives in your house, ma'am."
"Eh? Who told you that?"
"The people next door but one. I've been asking at many houses in the neighbourhood. There used to be relations of mine lived somewhere here; I don't know the house, nor the street exactly. The name isn't so very common. If you don't mind, I should like to ask you who the child's parents was."
Mrs. Peckover's eyes were searching the speaker with the utmost closeness.
