“A godless man, mine,” she said grimly.  “If so happen as Mr. Wembley had come to these parts years ago, I’d have seen myself in my grave before I’d have married a publican.  But it’s too late now.  We’re mostly too late about the things that count in this world.  So it’s your friend that’s been stricken down, young man.  A well-living man, I hope?”

Gerald shivered ever so slightly.  He drank the milk, however.  He felt that he might need his strength.

“What train might you have been on?” the woman continued.  “There’s none due on this line that we knew of.  David Bass, the station-master, was here but two hours ago and said he’d finished for the night, and praised the Lord for that.  The goods trains had all been stopped at Ipswich, and the first passenger train was not due till six o’clock.”

Gerald shook his head with an affectation of weariness.

“I don’t know,” he replied.  “I don’t remember anything about it.  We were hours late, I think.”

The woman was looking down at the unconscious man.  Gerald rose slowly to his feet and stood by her side.  The face of Mr. John P. Dunster, even in unconsciousness, had something in it of strength and purpose.  The shape of his head, the squareness of his jaws, the straightness of his thick lips, all seemed to speak of a hard and inflexible disposition.  His hair was coal black, coarse, and without the slightest sprinkling of grey.  He had the neck and throat of a fighter.  But for that single, livid, blue mark across his forehead, he carried with him no signs of his accident.  He was a little inclined to be stout.  There was a heavy gold chain stretched across his waist-coat.  From where he lay, the shining handle of his revolver protruded from his hip, pocket.

“Sakes alive!” the woman muttered, as she looked down.  “What does he carry a thing like that for—­in a peaceful country, too!”

“It was just an idea of his,” Gerald answered.  “We were going abroad in a day or two.  He was always nervous.  If you like, I’ll take it away.”

He stooped down and withdrew it from the unconscious man’s pocket.  He started as he discovered that it was loaded in every chamber.

“I can’t bear the sight of them things,” the woman declared.  “It’s the men of evil ways, who’ve no trust in the Lord, who need that sort of protection.”

They heard the door pushed open, the howl of wind down the passage, and the beating of rain upon the stone flags.  Then it was softly closed again.  The landlord staggered into the room, followed by a young man.

“This ’ere is Mr. Martin’s chaffer,” he announced.  “You can tell him what you want yerself.”

Gerald turned almost eagerly towards the newcomer.

“I want to go to the other side of Holt,” he said, “and get my friend—­get this gentleman away from here—­get him home, if possible.  Can you take me?”

The chauffeur looked doubtful.