"Hallo, young man!" he said, staring at me, while his face flushed under the surprise of his recognition. "I've seen you before! Last night, at the hotel in Wooler. And—and—somewhere before that!"
"In Newcastle, no doubt," said I. "I saw you there two or three times."
He stopped dead in the middle of the courtyard, still staring.
"Who are you?" he demanded. "The girl up there said—a visitor!"
His bland manner and suave tone had gone now, and he was almost hectoring in his attitude. I looked at him wonderingly.
"Miss Durham described me as what I am," I answered. "A visitor!"
"Parslewe's visitor?" he asked.
"Mr. Parslewe's visitor—certainly," said I. "His guest."
"How long have you known Parslewe?" he inquired.
But his manner was getting somewhat too much for my patience.
"Really!" I began. "I fail to see why———"
He suddenly tapped me on the chest with a strange sort of familiarity.
