“To tell you the truth, sir, he didn't do much. He was only caretaker here, you understand? When the weather was fine, he'd go up to Foxhills and open some of the windows in the morning, to air the rooms. Then he'd take a look round the grounds, likely, just to see that all was as it should be. He might have to go down to the village for tea, or butter, or something like that. Then he'd come home and take his dinner. In the afternoon he'd have a bit of a sleep for a while—he was getting on in years—and then perhaps he'd dig a while in his garden here; look after his flowers; then he'd have his tea. Some time or other, he'd go up and look round Foxhills again and shut any windows he'd opened. And then he'd come back here; water his garden, most likely, if it needed it. And perhaps some of us would drop in for a chat with him. Or else he might take a walk down to see me or somebody else in the village. Or sometimes he'd read.” Sir Clinton threw a glance round the barely furnished room. “He had books, then? I don't see any.” “He read his Bible, sir. I never saw him read anything else.” “There's a Bible in the bedroom, Sir Clinton,” Armadale confirmed. “An uneventful life, apparently,” the chief constable commented, not unkindly. “Now I want to hear something about what sort of man he was. Polite in his manners, you said?” “Very polite,” Sapcote insisted. “I remembered hearing some visitor once saying that Peter was a natural gentleman, sir.” “They do exist, here and there, even nowadays,” Sir Clinton admitted. “Now let's come down to dots, constable. I want to get a picture of him in my mind and you seem to have known him well enough to help. Let's see, now. Suppose I'd met him somewhere and offered to come and see him—or that he'd asked me here. What would happen? I suppose I'd knock at the door and he'd come and let me in. Which chair would he give me?” “Whichever you liked best, sir. They're much the same. If there'd been any difference he'd have given you the best one.” “Quite so. I'm beginning to see him better. Now go on, constable. He'd have been easy and natural, too, if I can gauge him. He'd just have met me in his shirt-sleeves as he used to meet you? No fuss?” “He'd have made no fuss, sir. But he'd have put on his jacket for you, you being a strange gentleman coming to his house on a special visit; and perhaps he'd have offered you a cup of tea if the time was right for it.” “And if it was later in the evening? Some whiskey, if he had any?” “No, sir. Peter was a strong teetotaller.” Sir Clinton glanced over the dresser on which all the dishes were neatly stacked. “He was a tidy man, I see?” “Very, sir. Always had everything ship-shape. He never could bear to have things lying about. Sometimes he used to anger me because he'd wash up his tea-things when I wanted to talk to him. Of course, if it had been you, I expect he'd wait till you'd gone. It wouldn't have been polite to wash up with a stranger there.”