The detective stepped into the green-house, and stood a moment admiring the choice flowers and some purple grapes ripening above. Ann Hopley had gathered her herbs when he came out, and stood with them in her hand. "If you'd like to take a few flowers' sir, I'm sure Mrs. Grey would not wish to object. Or a bunch of grapes. There's some ripe." "Thank you, not now." He pulled open the tool-house door, only partly closed, and looked in on Hopley. The old man was cleaning it out. Sweeping the floor with a besom and raising a cloud of dust enough to choke a dozen throats, he was hissing and fizzing over his work. Hopley looked very decrepid to-day: his swollen knees were bent and tottering: his humped back was all conspicuous as he stood; while his throat was enveloped in some folds of an old scarlet comforter. "Mr. Hopley, I think," said the detective, politely. "Will you please tell me the name of the gentleman that's staying here?" But Hopley, bent nearly double over his work, took no notice whatever. His back was towards the detective; and he kept on his hissing and fizzing, and scattering his clouds of dust. "He does not hear you, sir," said Ann Hopley, advancing. "He's as deaf as a post, and can make out no voice but mine: especially when he has one of his sore throats upon him, as he has to-day. For my part, I think these bad throats have to do with the deafness. He is always getting them." Stepping into the midst of the dust, she shook her husband by the arm somewhat roughly, and he raised his head with a start. "Here, Hopley, just listen a minute," she screamed at the top of her voice. "This gentleman is asking you to tell him the name of the gentleman who is staying here--that's it, is it not, sir?"--and Mr. Strange nodded acquiescence. "The name, Hopley, the name." "I've never see'd no lady here but the missis," said old Hopley at length, in his imperfect articulation, caused by the loss of his teeth, as he touched his broad-brimmed hat respectfully to the stranger, and looked up, leaning on the besom. "Not a lady, Hopley; a gentleman," bawled Ann. "I've see'd no gentleman here at all." "He is rather stupid as to intellect, is he not?" cried the detective to the wife. She resented the imputation. "Not at all, sir; no more than deaf people always seem to be." "What gentleman be it?" asked Hopley. "Smith the agent comes for the rent at quarter-day, and Sir Karl Andinnian came over one morning about the well." "Neither of those," roared out Mr. Strange. "The gentleman that's hiding here." "Not them, Hopley," called Ann in his ear. "The gentleman that's hiding here, he says." "Hiding where?" asked Hopley. "In them underground places? I never know'd as anybody was hiding in 'em." "Ask him if he'll swear that no man whatever is in hiding here, Mrs. Hopley." "The gentleman says will you swear that no man is in hiding here at the Maze?" repeated Ann, somewhat improving upon the question.