grandmother, could give some particulars about him. So that solves the question we were talking of at Markendale Square, as to where Ashton went during the absence Mrs. Killenhall told us of."
"If this is the same Ashton," suggested Viner.
"We'll soon decide that," answered Mr. Pawle as he touched the bell on his desk. "I purposely awaited your coming before hearing what this young woman had to tell. Now, my dear," he continued as a clerk brought the girl into the room, "take a chair and tell me what your message is, more particularly. You're from Marketstoke eh? Just so—and your grandmother, who sent you here, keeps an inn there?"
"Yes, sir, the Ellingham Arms," replied the girl as she sat down and glanced a little nervously at her two interviewers.
"To be sure. And your grandmother's name is—what?"
"Hannah Summers, sir."
"Mrs. Hannah Summers. Grandfather living?"
"No, sir."
"Very well—Mrs. Hannah Summers, landlady at the Ellingham Arms, Marketstoke, in Buckinghamshire. Now then—but what's your name, my dear?"
"Lucy Summers, sir."
"Very pretty name, I'm sure! Well, and what's the message your grandmother sent me? I want this gentleman to hear it."
"Grandmother wished me to say, sir, that we read the piece in the paper this morning asking if anybody could give you any news about a Mr. John Ashton, and that as we had a gentleman of that name
