“The Meredyths,” said Mrs. Bonner, “hev lived at Starden”—she called it ‘Sta-a-arden’—“oh, I wouldn’t like to say for how long, centuries anyhow. Then for a time things got despirit with them, and the place was sold. Bought it was by Mr. Gorridge, a London gentleman. Thirty years he lived here. I remember him buying it; I would be about eighteen then, just before I married Bonner. Master Roger I think it was, anyhow one of ’em—the Meredyths I mean—went to Australia and kep’ sheep or something there, and made money, and he bought the old place back, Mr. Gorridge being dead and gone. You’ll see ’is tomb in the church, Mr. Alston.” “Thank you,” Hugh said. “I’ll be sure to look for it.” “A wonderful expensive tomb, and much admired,” said Mrs. Bonner. “I am sure it must be in the best taste. And then?” “Oh, then Mr. Roger died at sea and left it all, Starden Hall and his money, to Miss Joan Meredyth. And she lives there now, and I suppose she’ll go on living there when she is married.” “When she is married,” he repeated. “To Mr. John Everard of Buddesby, a rare pleasant-spoken, nice gentleman as no one can speak a word against. Passes here most days in his car, he does—always running over from Buddesby, as is but natcheral.” Starden Hall gates stood about a quarter of a mile out of Starden village, and midway between the village and the Hall gates was Mrs. Bonner’s clean, typically Kentish little cottage. Artists were Mrs. Bonner’s usual customers. The cottage was old, half-timbered and hipped-roofed. The roof was clad with Sussex stone, lichen-covered, and a feast of colour from grey and vivid yellow to the most tender green. Mrs. Bonner herself was a comfortable body, built on ample and generous lines, a born house manager, a born cook, and of a cleanliness that she herself described as “scrutinous.” So Hugh, casting about for a retreat, had happened on Mrs. Bonner’s cottage and had installed himself here—for how long he knew not, for what purpose he scarcely even guessed at. Yet here he was. Mrs. Bonner had seen Philip Slotman, as she saw most things and people that at one time or another passed within range of her windows. She recognised him from Hugh’s description. “It would be about best part of a fortnight ago,” she said. “He had shammy leather gloves on, and was in Hickman’s cab. Hickman waited for him at the hall gates and then took him back.” “And he’s not been here since?” “I fancy, but I ain’t sure, that I did see him one day in a car,” said Mrs. Bonner; “but I couldn’t swear to it.”