"To whom does it belong?" asked Lucian. "Mr. Peacock; he owns most of the property round about here, having bought up the land when the place was first built on. He's seventy years of age, you know, Mr. Denzil," continued Miss Greeb conversationally, "and rich!--Lord! I don't know how rich he is! Building houses cheap and letting them dear; he has made more out of that than in sanding his sugar and chicorying his coffee. He----" "What is the name of the tenant?" interrupted Lucian, cutting short this rapid sketch of Peacock's life. "Mrs. Bensusan, one of the largest women hereabouts." "I don't quite understand." "Fat, Mr. Denzil. She turns the scale at eighteen stone, and has pretty well broke every weighing machine in the place." "What reputation has she, Miss Greeb?" "Oh, pretty good," said the little woman, shrugging her shoulders, "though they do say she overcharges and underfeeds her lodgers." "She keeps a boarding-house, then?" "Well, she lets rooms," explained Miss Greeb in a very definite manner, "and those who live in them supply their own food, and pay for service and kitchen fire." "Who is with her now?" "No one," replied the landlady promptly. "She's had her bill up these three months. Her last lodger left about Christmas." "What is his name--or her name?" "Oh, it was a 'he,'" said Miss Greeb, smiling. "Mrs. Bensusan prefers gentlemen, who are out of doors all day, to ladies muddling and meddling all day about the house. I must say I do, too, Mr. Denzil," ended the lady, with a fascinating glance. "What is his name, Miss Greeb?" repeated Lucian, quite impervious to the hint. "Let me see," said Miss Greeb, discomfited at the result of her failure. "A queer name that had to do with payments. Bill as the short for William. No, it wasn't that, although it does suggest an account. Quarterday? No. But it had something to do with quarter-days. Rent!" finished Miss Greeb triumphantly. "Rent, with a 'W' before it." "W-r-e-n-t!" spelled Lucian. "Yes. Wrent! Mr. Wrent. A strange name, Mr. Denzil--a kind of charade, as I may say. He was with Mrs. Bensusan six months; came to her house about the time Mr. Berwin hired No. 13." "Very strange!" assented Lucian, to stop further comment. "What kind of a man was this Mr. Wrent?" "I don't know. I never heard much about him," replied Miss Greeb regretfully. "May I ask why you want to know all this, Mr. Denzil?" Lucian hesitated, as he rather dreaded the chattering tongue of his landlady, and did not wish his connection with the Vrain case to become public property in Geneva Square. Still, Miss Greeb was a valuable ally, if only for her wide acquaintance with the neighbourhood, its inhabitants, and their doings. Therefore, after a moment's reflection, he resolved to secure Miss Greeb as a coadjutor, and risk her excessive garrulity. "Can you keep a secret, Miss Greeb?" he asked, with impressive solemnity.