took Brixey away to another part of the big house, and into a long, low-ceilinged room, the French windows of which opened out on a walled garden. He lighted a lamp, produced a box of cigars, and set a decanter, a siphon, and glasses on the table.
"Have a drink," he said hospitably.
"Well, a mere spot, then," assented Brixey. "Interesting old house this of yours," he went on, when he had helped himself to a cigar and mixed a very weak whisky and soda.
"And that looks like a delightful old garden you've got outside. I like those walled gardens that one finds in towns like these—something appealing about them."
"Like to see it?" asked Fanshawe, obviously relieved that his guest suggested something to do. "One or two fine old trees in it. Come and look round while it's still light."
Brixey followed Fanshawe out. He had been intending to suggest an exploration of the garden as soon as he saw that the room opened on it. He wanted to see for himself how it lay in relation to the dressmaker's house at the back.
Once outside in the twilight he looked curiously about him. The garden was a square, set in high old brick walls, and plentifully filled with hardy shrubs and trees. From a miniature lawn in the middle rose a cedar of considerable size. Fanshawe pointed to it with obvious pride.
"Only cedar tree in all Selchester," he said. "Don't know how old it is, but it's done well in its time, what? There are a lot of rare shrubs about here. My father used to bring cuttings from the south of France and try to grow them. Some grew and flourished, and some didn't."
Brixey strolled round the paths, looking about him, until they came to a doorway set in the wall.
"Old part of the town, this, evidently," he observed casually. "What lies behind this garden?"
Fanshawe opened the door and revealed a narrow lane.
"This is Friargate," he said. "Runs from the main street—yonder at the end—to the foot of the Priory grounds, across the Minories there. All old houses and places, there.
"That's St. Fridolin's Church along there. That place opposite is a brewery. Ramshackle property, most of it—ought to be pulled down."
"That would spoil the effect," remarked Brixey. He took a rapid glance round, and identified the house which the dressmaker had described to him as her own. "These old red-brick places would rejoice an artist—you get such colour effects out of them."
"Dare say!" said Fanshawe indifferently. "But, by George, they're full of rats! I had two of my fox-terriers in there at the brewery one day last week. We killed over fifty rats in two hours—swarms with 'em. You don't want to buy a really good dog, do you?"
"Not that I know of," answered Brixey. "Got one to sell?"
"No, but Nat Lee, the caretaker at the Priory ruins, has," replied Fanshawe. "A real good 'un, too—an Airedale terrier. Top-hole as a house-dog, or anything of that sort. If you want a house-dog, I can recommend him."
"My house is a set of chambers in the Temple," said Brixey. "I wouldn't condemn a dog to it. Nowhere to run about."
"Well, this chap's a good 'un," repeated Fanshawe, "I strolled up to Lee's on purpose to look at him the other night, and I soon got proof of his value!"
"Oh?" said Brixey. "How, then?"
"I've a key into the Priory grounds," answered Fanshawe. "All yearly subscribers have, so that you can get in when you like. I let myself in the other night, latish, and walked up to Lee's house, and this Airedale was on the steps.
"Hanged if he'd let me pass him! I had to stand there and yell for Nat Lee. A real good 'un, my boy, and I'd buy him if we hadn't half a dozen already, one sort or another. Come and see 'em?"
He led Brixey (whose chief interest in his host's story had lain in the explanation which it afforded of Fanshawe's visit to the Priory on the previous night) to another part of the garden, where half a dozen dogs were confined in a wire enclosure,
Here Brixey spent the better part of an hour, listening to dog talk in which his young host was an adept. And all the while he was wondering what was going on in that twilight-filled room where they had left Mrs. Byfield and Georgina alone.
For Brixey had watched the elder woman's face carefully during the moment in which he had seen her, and he felt instinctively that she had made up her mind to tell Georgina something. No doubt it was being told—and here he was, gazing ruminatively at Fanshawe's dogs.