Hench did not present his letter of introduction to Mrs. Perage straight away, but busied himself in learning what he could of the geography of Cookley. He examined the church, explored the village,--never going into the Bull Inn, by the way,--and even ventured to look at the Gipsy Stile. It gave him a qualm when he found himself on the well-remembered spot, and saw beyond the old brick wall the picturesque Grange, which was now his property. Mrs. Bell, who knew everything about the place and talked freely enough when asked, although she was no scandal-monger, told him how Miss Evans had gone to stay with Mrs. Perage since the death of her father. "And they do say," said Mrs. Bell, who always prefaced her remarks with this phrase, "that she ain't going to rest until she finds out who killed him." "Is there any clue?" asked Owain, keeping his face turned away. "No, there ain't, sir, unless you can call that tramp a clue. He did ask Betsy Jane at the Bull where the Gipsy Stile was, and the old Squire was found there some hours later as dead as mutton. But since then no one's clapped eyes on him, and I don't suppose, sir, as any one ever will." "Do you think the tramp murdered the Squire?" "Lord, sir, how do I know!" cried Mrs. Bell in a panic. "I hev enough to do in the house without thinking of murders. But they do say as Squire Evans was a hard man on poachers, as Giles knows, he having got into trouble over a pheasant. It might be, sir, as that tramp was one of them poachers, and done for the Squire. Though to be sure," added the woman, rubbing her nose in a perplexed way, "if he was a poacher hereabouts some one would hev knowed him, and he wouldn't hev had to ask Betsy Jane of the Bull where the stile was. It's my opinion, that for all Miss Gwen's trying she'll never find out who killed her father. And they do say as if the murderer ain't found it won't be any great grief to them as knowed old Mr. Evans." "What kind of a girl is Miss Evans?" asked Hench irrelevantly. "Ah!" cried Mrs. Bell, nursing her hands under her apron. "Now they do say, sir, as I knows myself, as she's as nice a young lady as you ever set eyes on. Lovely I call her, and small like me, though quite a lady, which I ain't. She's as loved as her father was hated, and they do say as that's saying a great deal. I do assure you, sir, as we'd rather hev Miss Gwen for the head of the place than this new young Squire, as comes from no one knows where!"