I rather liked Giles, who was a burly, heavy-faced animal man, with, as I said before, a most engaging smile. His jaw was of the bull-dog order, but his eyes were extremely intelligent, so I judged that his native wits had been considerably sharpened by his sojourn in the Borough of Southwark. Such a man could easily master the less travelled villagers, and I found that such was the case. Giles acted as a kind of headman of Mootley, and his opinion carried great weight in the village councils. It was just as well that I had fallen into the hands of such a man, otherwise, unable to see that I was innocent of assault and robbery, I should have been less hospitably treated. As it was, I found myself extremely comfortable. Mrs. Giles bustled about in a cheery way, although the news of Mrs. Caldershaw's death seemed to have somewhat scared her. While getting the supper and laying the cloth and attending to the kettle she would frequently pause to consider her husband's story. "I rather think she expected it," said Mrs. Giles, putting a pot of jam on the table. "Expected what, Sarah?" asked her husband, guessing what she alluded to. "Death, Sam, death. She told me once that she was sure she would not die in her bed." "Then you think that she has been murdered?" I questioned. "Yes, I do think so, sir; else why should she speak in that way? And in church she always said that part of the Litany about being saved from battle, murder, and sudden death louder than any." "There was no blood and no wound," muttered Giles, turning this speech over in his mind. "Frampton said he thought it was a fit. But come and draw your chair, in, sir. We're humble folk, but what we have is at your service." "You're very kind folk," I said, obeying the invitation. "Frampton and Mrs. Faith would have tied me up and starved me." "Ignorant people, sir, who don't know any better. Bread, sir? jam, sir? yes, sir." He was really most polite for a greengrocer, and I grew to like him more and more, as I did his busy, bright-faced little wife. The supper was homely but very nourishing, and I drank tea and devoured bread and jam, until my hunger was quite satisfied. During the meal the husband and wife told me that Mrs. Caldershaw had kept the corner shop--so they called it--for the last five years, and had never been popular amongst her neighbours. It was believed that she had miserly tendencies and had much money tucked away in a stocking. Her age was sixty, but she was an active woman for her years and lived entirely alone. It seemed that she had been born in Mootley, but had been absent for many years out at service--so she said, although she spoke very little about her past. With her savings--again this was the story of Mrs. Caldershaw--she had returned to die in her native village and, for the sake of something to do, had opened the corner shop. "Did she have many callers?" I asked, mentally noting details.