On his way home through the town Cai took occasion to study the Bill of Auction on one of the hoardings.  It advertised the property in separate small lots, of which Barton’s Orchard figured as No. 9.  The bill gave its measurement as 1 acre, 1 rood, 15 perches.  The sale would take place at the Ship Hotel, Troy, on Monday, January 4,1897, at 2.30 P.M.  Messrs Dewy and Moss, Auctioneers.

In the course of the next week he made one or two attempts to sound Mrs Bosenna and assure himself that she meant to attend the sale and secure Lot 9; but she spoke of it with an irritating carelessness.  Almost it might have persuaded him—­had he been less practised in her wayward moods—­that she had dismissed the affair from her mind.  But on Friday (New Year’s Day) as he took leave of her, she recurred to it.  “Dear me,” said she meditatively, “I shall not be seeing you for several days, shall I?”

“Eh?  Why not?”

“To-morrow’s Saturday; then Sunday’s our day of rest, as Dinah calls it.  On Monday’s the auction—­”

“Ah, to be sure!” Cai had forgotten this consequence of it, and was dashed in spirits for the moment.  “But I shall see you there?”

“Perhaps,” she answered negligently.  “Shall you be attendin’?  Really, now!”

With an accent of reproach he asked how she could imagine that a business so nearly concerning her could find him other than watchful.  On leaving he repeated his good wishes for the twelvemonth to come, and with a warmth of intention which she perversely chose to ignore.

To be sure he meant to attend the sale.  Nor was he surprised on entering the Ship Inn next Monday, some ten minutes ahead of the advertised time, to find ’Bias in the bar with a glass of hot brandy and water at his elbow.  Cai ordered a rum hot.

“Where’s the auction to be held?” he inquired of Mr Oke, the landlord.

“Long Room as usual.”  Mr Oke jerked a thumb towards the stairs; and Cai, having drained his glass, went up.

In the Long Room, which is a handsome apartment with waggon roof and curious Jacobean mouldings dating from the time when The Ship was built to serve as “town house” for one of Troy’s great local families, Cai found a sparse company waiting for the sale to open, and noted with momentary dismay that Mrs Bosenna had not yet arrived.  But after all, he reflected, there was no need for extreme punctuality, it would take the auctioneer some time to reach Lot 9.

The company included young Mr Middlecoat, of course; and, equally of course, Mr Philp, who had no interest in the sale beyond that of curiosity; some three or four farmers from the back-country, who had apparently come for no purpose but to lend Mr Middlecoat their moral support, since, as it turned out, not one of them made a serious bid; Squire Willyams’ steward, Mr Baker,—­a tall, clean-shaven man with a watchful non-committal face; one or two frequenters of The Ship’s bar-parlour; and the Quaymaster, by whom (as Barber Toy remarked) any new way of neglecting his duties was hailed as a godsend.