“Abstention from over-drinking and overeating,” said Mr. Sorley briskly, giving his recipe for everlasting youth. “An hour’s sleep in the afternoon and plenty of it at night. Cold tubs, dumbbell exercises in the altogether as Trilby says with the window open, judicious walks and an optimistic way of looking at things. There you are,” he ended with his favourite catch-phrase as usual. “Now you must add trips on a motor bicycle,” laughed Alan, smiling. “By the way, how is Marie?” “Blooming as a rose, fresh as a daisy, cheerful as a lark,” prattled Mr. Sorley, with a swift and not altogether approving glance at the speaker’s face. “She’ll be getting married soon. I can’t expect to keep such beauty and grace hidden from the world. And she must make a good match, my lad”—this was for Alan’s particular benefit as the young man knew very well——“a title and money, good looks and a landed estate, with brains added. That is the suitor I have chosen for Marie.” “You are looking for a bird of paradise,” said Fuller, coloring at the hint conveyed, “does such perfection exist in a mere human being?” “I hope so; I hope so,” said Sorley, still cheery and still shifty in his glance, “we must look for the rarity, my lad. But I’m in no hurry to lose Marie. She is a great comfort to her old uncle. I was annoyed the other day, greatly annoyed, and she talked me into quite a good humor.” “What annoyed you, sir?” asked Fuller, not because he cared, but merely from a desire to chat about Miss Inderwick. “A funeral which took place in the village.” “Oh, Baldwin Grison’s funeral?” Sorley brought his shifty green eyes to the young man’s face. “What do you know about Baldwin Grison?” he asked sharply, and, as it seemed to Alan’s suspicious nature, rather uneasily. “All that the newspapers could tell me, Mr. Sorley. He was murdered at Rotherhithe by some unknown person, and his sister brought the body down here for burial in the village churchyard.” “That last wasn’t in the newspapers,” retorted the other quickly and looking everywhere but at Alan’s face. “No, it wasn’t. But my friend Latimer—you may remember meeting him at the vicarage, Mr. Sorley—was at the inquest and afterwards spoke to Miss Grison, who told him of her intention.” “Did she tell him also that her brother was my secretary twenty years ago, Alan?” demanded Sorley, his face growing red and his eyes glittering. “Did she say how he was turned out of the house as a drunken swine?” “Miss Grison hinted something of those things at the inquest, but did not go into details, and, as they were unnecessary, she was not pressed. But she told Latimer that her brother had been discharged by you for some reason.”