He did, as may be supposed, nothing. When he went to meet the curate at the foundry in time for their train, he saw again the fellow who had known May the prisoner, and had a shame-faced laugh at himself as he thought of May the mayor. What if he were to interrogate this man, who was already his acquaintance, who touched his cap and brightened at sight of him, expectant of another shilling? The one, he said to himself, would be just as sensible as the other, and more easily carried out. When Mr. Cattley saw the recognition that passed between this labourer and his young companion he looked at John with surprise. ‘Do you know that man?’ he asked, upon which John entered into the story of his appearance at Edgeley, saying, ‘Don’t you remember?’ ‘I think I remember something of the kind,’ said the curate, ‘but I wonder you recollect the looks of the fellow. He is not a very attractive-looking acquaintance.’ ‘He brought a name to my mind,’ said John, ‘that I had a recollection of--when I was quite a child. I have been trying to find out something about it, but I can’t.’ ‘What have you been trying to find out about?’ ‘Well, that’s the funny part,’ said John, with an embarrassed laugh. ‘I don’t exactly know. I want to know something, I can’t tell what, about a gentleman of that name who I think lived here, or near here, ten or twelve years ago.’ ‘That’s vague,’ said the curate. ‘Yes, it’s very vague. I suppose it was silly to think I could find out anything. The mayor’s name,’ said John, with a touch of pride in it, ‘is May.’ ‘Ah, the mayor. You didn’t think it was he, I suppose? I remember some story of a May who embezzled or forged or something; no doubt the one whom your friend there’ (Mr. Cattley jerked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the man at the foundry) ‘knew. Now, John, look sharp. We haven’t got a minute to lose. Our train is at four.’ ‘My things are all ready,’ said John: and they got their train, and there was an end of the three days at Liverpool, in which he had hoped to find out so much. It was not so easy to explain his little journey to his grandfather as he had hoped. He tried to give vague answers to the old man’s questions, but in the end had to confess where he had been and why he had been so desirous of going there. ‘To find out what?’ Mr. Sandford cried, with a flash of displeasure quite unusual. ‘What did you want to find out?’ ‘About my father, grandfather,’ said John. ‘I have never been satisfied with what I have been told, and now less than ever.’ ‘Why now? What has happened to make you dissatisfied? What does it all mean?’ ‘Since my--since your--since--Emily was here.’