"There's a Whitton Park, isn't there?" I inquired. "Yes; Colonel Chetwode's place. That's just before you get to Whitton Church." "It's a large house, I suppose?" "Oh, yes; he's the squire there, and magistrate, and all that." "I've heard his name," I said, "but I've never seen him. What sort of a man is he?" "Oh, a bit stand-offish, tall, thin, and grey-haired. We hotel-keepers don't like 'im, because he's always down on us on the licensing-days over at Brentford," the man replied, chewing his cheap cigar. "He's married, isn't he?" "Yes; he married 'is second wife about three years ago. She's a good looking woman with reddish hair. They say she don't get on very well with the Colonel's grown-up son." "Oh," I remarked, at once interested. "How old is the son?" "About twenty-five. He's a jolly fellow 'e is. He's a lieutenant in the 7th Hussars, and they're stationed here just now. He often comes in and gets a drink when e' passes." "And he doesn't hit it off well with his stepmother?" "No; I've heard some queer stories about their quarrels from the servants," he answered. He was a gossip, like all landlords of inns, and seemed extremely communicative because I had asked him to drink with me. The effect of a shilling spent upon drink is ofttimes amazing. "Stepmothers are generally intruders," I laughed. "Well, things came to such a pass down at the Park, a month or two ago, that Mrs Chetwode demanded that the Colonel should turn young Mr Cyril out of the house, and threatened that if he did not she would leave. The Colonel, so it's said, grew furious, stormed down the place, and in the end Mrs Chetwode packed her trunks and went with Sherman, her maid, to Switzerland. About three weeks ago the Colonel followed her and brought her back, so I suppose they've made it up again." "Do they entertain many friends?" "Oh yes, there's always visitors there; it's so near to London, you see." "Do you know the names of any of the visitors?" I inquired. Adding, "I think a friend of mine comes down to see them sometimes--a Sir Pierrepoint-Lane." "Oh yes," he said; "I've seen both Sir Henry and his wife driving. They've got a place somewhere in Wiltshire, I've heard. They're great friends of Mrs Chetwode's." "And there's a Miss Ashwicke who comes with them," I said eagerly. "Do you know her?" "I may know her by sight," the man replied, "but I don't know her by name." "She's tall, blue-eyed, with golden-brown hair. Very pretty, and always very smartly dressed." "Yes; she wears a big black hat, and very often a drab-coloured dress. When she smiles she shows her teeth very prettily," he said. "That's her, no doubt." "Well," he said, "her description is exact. She's Mr Cyril's young lady." "What?" I cried, starting up in surprise. "When she's down here she's always about with the Colonel's son, and everybody says they're engaged," he went on. "The servants have told me that they're a most devoted couple."