The Second Stranger
43
"He is a bit inclined that way," replied Madrasia, almost flippantly. "Are you?"
He waved his hand, shelving away from us.
"A neophyte—a mere neophyte," he said, still smiling. "A—er, learner!"
He strode off up the valley: we looked after him meditatively.
"Don't like the looks of that person," said Madrasia, suddenly.
"Neither do I—though I don't know why," I answered. "Case of Dr. Fell, I suppose. Bit too given to smiling readily, eh?"
"Oily!" said Madrasia. "Wonder who he is—and what he's after?"
"Doesn't look like a dry-as-dust antiquary, anyhow," I remarked.
But whatever the man looked like, we found him with Parslewe when we went home—one on each side of the parlour fire. And Parslewe introduced him, unceremoniously—Mr. Pawley.
