“This is Hartledon House, I believe,” he said, speaking with a Scotch accent.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you belong to it?”

“I am Lord Hartledon’s butler.”

“Is Lord Hartledon at home?”

“No, sir.  He is in France.”

“I read a notice of his marriage in the public papers,” continued the stranger, whose eyes were fixed on Hedges.  “It was, I suppose, a correct one?”

“My lord was married the week before last:  about ten or eleven days ago.”

“Ay; April the fourteenth, the paper said.  She is one of the Kirton family.  When do you expect him home?”

“I don’t know at all, sir.  I’ve not heard anything about it.”

“He is in France, you say, Paris, I suppose.  Can you furnish me with his address?”

Up to this point the colloquy had proceeded smoothly on both sides:  but it suddenly flashed into the mind of Hedges that the stranger’s manner was somewhat mysterious, though in what the mystery lay he could not have defined.  The communicative man, true to the interests of his master, became cautious at once:  he supposed some of Lord Hartledon’s worries, contracted when he was Mr. Elster, were returning upon him.

“I cannot give his address, sir.  And for the matter of that, it might not be of use if I could.  Lord and Lady Hartledon did not intend remaining any length of time in one place.”

The stranger had dug the point of his umbrella into the level greensward that bounded the gravel, and swayed the handle about with his hand, pausing in thought.

“I have come a long way to see Lord Hartledon,” he observed.  “It might be less trouble and cost for me to go on to Paris and see him there, than to start back for home, and come here again when he returns to England.  Are you sure you can’t give me his address?”

“I’m very sorry I can’t, sir.  There was a talk of their going on to Switzerland,” continued Hedges, improvising the journey, “and so coming back through Germany; and there was a talk of their making Italy before the heat came on, and stopping there.  Any way, sir, I dare say they are already away from Paris.”

The stranger regarded Hedges attentively, rather to the discomfiture of that functionary, who thought he was doubted.  He then asked a great many questions, some about Lord Hartledon’s personal habits, some about Lady Maude:  the butler answered them freely or cautiously, as he thought he might, feeling inclined all the while to chase the intruder off the premises.  Presently he turned his attention on the house.

“A fine old place, this, Mr. Butler.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I suppose I could look over it, if I wished?”

Hedges hesitated.  He was privately asking himself whether the law would allow the stranger, if he had come after any debt of Lord Hartledon’s, to refuse to leave the house, once he got into it.

“I could ask Lady Kirton, sir, if you particularly wished it.”