Some days passed, during which George became a prey to various emotions. Then came a letter which puzzled him exceedingly. The land agent would be much obliged if Mr. Drake could make it convenient to call at his office in order that certain misunderstandings might be removed. He did not care to say anything more definite at the moment, as it was quite possible he had read Mr. Drake's instructions wrongly. If this was not the case, something very mysterious had happened. George thought of all manner of things, but above all he suspected treachery. If he entered the office, he might find himself trapped; with Bessie in one corner, Kezia in another, Dyer in the third, and Nellie in the fourth; with that notorious oppressor of widows and orphans, Hunter himself, standing vindictively in the centre; not to mention a horde of howling Highfielders outside the office. So he decided to take Matilda with him. It would be a nice outing for the girl. He could send her into the office to spy out the land; and, if necessary, he could sacrifice her to the violence of the mob. However, no precaution was required for, upon reaching the office and peering anxiously through the glass portion of the door, George discovered one clerk sprawling over a desk asleep, and another reading a newspaper. Reassured by these peaceful signs of business as usual, he told Matilda to go and look at the shops, and to cultivate a gift of imagination by selecting those articles of dress and adornment which she most desired; then entered, and asked the clerk, who seemed more capable of action, whether his master was disengaged. The reply being favourable, George gave his name, though with less noise than usual, and was immediately invited to step upstairs and to open the first door that occurred. He did so, reproaching himself bitterly for the shameful timidity which had kept him in hiding for two years, and entirely convinced that the purloining of the furniture was a very ordinary and straightforward piece of business. But this fine humour was knocked out of shape when the land agent, after a few preliminary remarks concerning hurricanes and anticyclones--appropriate under the circumstances--remarked courteously: "In what part of Highfield parish is the property situated?" "Near the end of the village street, just above the post office," answered the astounded George. "So I judged from your description. It sounds a very remarkable thing to say, Mr. Drake, but--we can't find it." "What the deuce do you mean?" George stuttered. "Not find it! Not find Highfield House! Why, it's the only gentleman's residence in the village. It stands out by itself. It hits you in the eye. It's as obvious as Exeter Cathedral." "Then you have no explanation to offer?" "Explain! What do you want me to explain?"