‘No, sir. I can’t sell less than a shilling’s worth, and that mustn’t be drunk on the premises. But I tell you what I can do--I’ll give you a drop. Come inside, sir.’ ‘It’s awfully good of you,’ said the brazen Richard; and he went inside and had the drop. In return he gave Mr. Puddephatt an excellent cigar. Then they began to talk. ‘I want a lodging for a night or two,’ Richard said after a time; and he explained that he had brought a motor-car up to the Queen’s Farm, and had other business in the district for his firm. ‘I can find ye a lodging,’ said Mr. Puddephatt promptly. ‘An aunt o’ mine at the other end of the village has as nice a little bedroom as ever you seed, and she’ll let you have it for a shilling a night, and glad.’ ‘Could you arrange it for me?’ Richard asked. ‘I could, sir,’ said Mr. Puddephatt; and then reflectively: ‘So you’ve come up to Queen’s Farm with a motor-car. Seems there ’re always having motor-cars there.’ ‘I suppose they’re perfectly safe, eh?’ said Richard. ‘Oh, they’re safe enough,’ Mr. Puddephatt replied emphatically. ‘Very nice people, too, but a bit queer.’ ‘Queer? How?’ Mr. Puddephatt laughed hesitatingly. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that Miss Craig’s knocking about these roads on them motor-cars day and night. Not but what she’s a proper young lady.’ ‘But everyone goes about on motor-cars nowadays,’ said Richard. ‘Yes,’ said Mr. Puddephatt. ‘But everyone doesn’t pay all their bills in new silver same as the Craigs.’ ‘They pay for everything in new silver, do they?’ said Richard. ‘That they do, sir. I sold ’em a couple of Irish mares when they first come to the Queen’s Farm. Dashed if I didn’t have to take the money away in my dog-cart!’ ‘But is it not the fact that an uncle of Mr. Craig’s died a couple of years ago and left him a large fortune in silver--an old crank, wasn’t he?’ ‘So people say,’ said Mr. Puddephatt sharply, as if to intimate that people would say anything. ‘It’s perfectly good silver, isn’t it?’ Richard asked. ‘Oh, it’s good enough!’ Mr. Puddephatt admitted in the same tone as he had said ‘Oh, they’re safe enough!’ a few moments before. ‘How long has Mr. Craig lived at the Queen’s Farm?’ ‘About two years,’ said Mr. Puddephatt. Mr. Simon Lock, then, was wrongly informed. Mr. Lock had said that Craig had lived at the farm for many years. ‘Where did he come from?’ ‘Before that he had a small house under Dunstable Downs--rather a lonesome place, near them big chalk-pits,’ Mr. Puddephatt answered. ‘He seems to like lonesome houses.’ ‘Near the chalk-pits, eh?’ said Richard. ‘As you’re a motorcar gent,’ said Mr. Puddephatt later, ‘I reckon I can’t sell you a horse.’ ‘I thought you sold wines and spirits.’ ‘So I do. I supply the gentry for miles around; but I does a bit in horses--and other things. And there isn’t a man as ever I sold a horse to as I can’t look in the face this day. I’ve got the prettiest little bay cob in my stable now----’