I returned his bow, and as he walked quite steadily toward the door, followed by Ah Tsong, he paused, turned, and said: “Mr. Knox, I should esteem it a friendly action if you would spare me an hour of your company before you leave Surrey. My visitors are few. Any one, any one, will direct you to the Guest House. I am persuaded that we have much in common. Good-day, sir.” He went down the steps, disappearing in company with the Chinaman, and having watched them go, I turned to Mrs. Wootton, the landlady, in silent astonishment. She nodded her head and sighed. “The same every day and every evening for months past,” she said. “I am afraid it’s going to be the death of him.” “Do you mean that Mr. Camber comes here every day and is always fetched by the Chinaman?” “Twice every day,” corrected the landlady, “and his poor wife sends here regularly.” “What a tragedy,” I muttered, “and such a brilliant man.” “Ah,” said she, busily removing jugs and glasses from the counter, “it does seem a terrible thing.” “Has Mr. Camber lived for long in this neighbourhood?” I ventured to inquire. “It was about three years ago, sir, that he took the old Guest House at Mid-Hatton. I remember the time well enough because of all the trouble there was about him bringing a Chinaman down here.” “I can imagine it must have created something of a sensation,” I murmured. “Is the Guest House a large property?” “Oh, no, sir, only ten rooms and a garden, and it had been vacant for a long time. It belongs to what is called the Crayland Park Estate.” “Mr. Camber, I take it, is a literary man?” “So I believe, sir.” Mrs. Wootton, having cleared the counter, glanced up at the clock and then at me with a cheery but significant smile. “I see that it is after time,” I said, returning the smile, “but the queer people who seem to live hereabouts interest me very much.” “I can’t wonder at that, sir!” said the landlady, laughing outright. “Chinamen and Spanish men and what-not. If some of the old gentry that lived here before the war could see it, they wouldn’t recognize the place, of that I am sure.” “Ah, well,” said I, pausing at the step, “I shall hope to see more of Mr. Camber, and of yourself too, madam, for your ale is excellent.” “Thank you, sir, I’m sure,” said the landlady much gratified, “but as to Mr. Camber, I really doubt if he would know you if you met him again. Not if he was sober, I mean.” “Really?” “Oh, it’s a fact, believe me. Just in the last six months or so he has started on the rampage like, but some of the people he has met in here and asked to call upon him have done it, thinking he meant it.” “And they have not been well received?” said I, lingering. “They have had the door shut in their faces!” declared Mrs. Wootton with a certain indignation. “He either does not remember what he says or does when he is in drink, or he pretends he doesn’t. Oh, dear, it’s a funny world. Well, good-day, sir.”