He led the way back into the room he had come from, half kitchen, half parlour. It at least had the virtue of an air of rude comfort, and some of the pewter and china that ornamented its mantelpiece and dresser would have rejoiced a collector's heart. "You find us a bit rough," apologized the young man, with something of contempt towards his surroundings. "We weren't expecting visitors." "And I was hesitating to come because I thought that you would be surrounded by your friends." This very ordinary remark seemed to afford Mrs Whitmarsh unbounded entertainment and for quite a number of seconds she was convulsed with silent amusement at the idea. "Shut up, mother," said her dutiful son. "Don't take any notice of her," he remarked to his visitors, "she often goes on like that. The fact is," he added, "we Whitmarshes aren't popular in these parts. Of course that doesn't trouble me; I've seen too much of things. And, taken as a boiling, the Whitmarshes deserve it." "Ah, wait till you touch the coal, my boy, then you'll see," put in the old lady, with malicious triumph. "I reckon we'll show them then, eh, mother?" he responded bumptiously. "Perhaps you've heard of that, Mr----?" "Carrados--Wynn Carrados. This is my man, Parkinson. I have to be attended because my sight has failed me. Yes, I had heard something about coal. Providence seems to be on your side just now, Mr Whitmarsh. May I offer you a cigarette?" "Thanks, I don't mind for once in a way." "They're Turkish; quite innocuous, I believe." "Oh, it isn't that. I can smoke cutty with any man, I reckon, but the paper affects my lips. I make my own and use a sort of paper with an end that doesn't stick." "The paper is certainly a drawback sometimes," agreed Carrados. "I've found that. Might I try one of yours?" They exchanged cigarettes and Whitmarsh returned to the subject of the tragedy. "This has made a bit of a stir, I can tell you," he remarked, with complacency. "I am sure it would. Well, it was the chief topic of conversation when I was in London." "Is that a fact?" Avowedly indifferent to the opinion of his neighbours, even Whitmarsh was not proof against the pronouncement of the metropolis. "What do they say about it up there?" "I should be inclined to think that the interest centres round the explanation you will give at the inquest of the cause of the quarrel." "There! What did I tell you?" exclaimed Mrs Whitmarsh. "Be quiet, mother. That's easily answered, Mr Carrados. There was a bit of duck shooting that lay between our two places. But perhaps you saw that in the papers?" "Yes," admitted Carrados, "I saw that. Frankly, the reason seemed inadequate to so deadly a climax." "What did I say?" demanded the irrepressible dame. "They won't believe it." The young man cast a wrathful look in his mother's direction and turned again to the visitor.