up a paper and sat down, affecting to look at it. But in reality, I was still watching the two men, and wondering what it was that they were talking about.
For without doubt it had to do with my host, Parslewe. The references to the copper box, to the coat-of-arms engraved on it, to the curiously worded motto appearing on the scroll beneath, all that meant Parslewe. Pawley, again; whom had Pawley been visiting but Parslewe? And Pawley's estimate, so much valued by White Whiskers, that was, of course, in relation to the age of Parslewe. It was all Parslewe, and it didn't require much thought or reflection or analysis on my part to decide that about and around Parslewe hung a decided mystery.
But of what nature? It seemed to me, judging him by my short yet very intimate acquaintanceship, that Parslewe was a decidedly frank and candid man. He had told me a good deal about himself. He had left England as a very young man, gone East, settled down in Madras, gone into partnership there with another Englishman, Madrasia's father, trading in cotton and indigo, made a
