“I do remember that.”

“Unfortunately,” went on Miss Pendarth, “it’s difficult to know when Timmy is telling the truth, or what he believes to be the truth, about his gift.  I think that often—­and I know that Betty agrees with me—­the boy invents all kinds of fantastic tales in order to impress the people about him.”

“As far as I can make out,” said Radmore slowly, “he’s always told me the truth.”

“I’ll tell you something curious that happened—­let me see, about seven years ago.  You remember an old man we used to call Gaffer John?  He had Wood Cottage, and lived in a very comfortable sort of way.”

“Of course I remember Gaffer John!  He was well over ninety when I left Beechfield, and he had been valet years ago to one of Queen Victoria’s cousins.”

“Yes, that’s the man I mean.  At last he was found dead in his chair.  He had what was by way of being rather a grand funeral.  Timmy, for some reason or other (I think he had a cold), wasn’t allowed to attend the funeral, and as he was set on seeing it, Janet said that he might come and see it from one of my windows.  Well, after the funeral was over, he stayed on with me for a few minutes, and suddenly he exclaimed:  ’Gaffer John isn’t dead at all, Miss Pendarth.’  I naturally answered, ’Of course he is, Timmy.  Why, we’ve just seen him buried.’  And then he said:  ’Don’t you see him walking out there, along the road, quite plainly?  He’s behind an old gentleman dressed up for a fancy ball.’  Then, Godfrey, the child went on to describe the kind of uniform which would have been worn seventy years ago by a staff officer.  I couldn’t help being impressed, in spite of myself, for I’d never given Timmy the slightest encouragement to talk in that sort of way, and it’s the only time he’s ever done it, with me.”

“What does his mother really think of this queer power of his?” asked Radmore.  “I’ve never liked to talk to her about it.”

“It’s difficult to say.  In some ways Janet Tosswill’s a very reserved woman.  But I’ll tell you another curious thing about the child.”  Instinctively she lowered her voice.

“The day before poor George was killed, Timmy cried and cried and cried.  It was impossible to comfort him—­and he wouldn’t give any reason for his grief.  Both Janet and Betty were dreadfully upset.  They thought he had some pain that he wouldn’t tell them of, and they would have sent for Dr. O’Farrell, but they knew he was away, some miles off, at a very difficult case.  Betty actually came in and asked if I would try to make him say what was the matter!  But of course I could do nothing with him.  I think you know that he was passionately fond of George.”

“What does Dr. O’Farrell think of it all?”

“He’s convinced that Timmy has got a kind of peculiar, rare, thought-reading gift.  He won’t hear of its being in any sense supernatural.  I haven’t spoken to him about it lately, but the last time he mentioned the child, he told me he was sure that what he called the boy’s ‘subconscious self’ would in time sink into its proper place.”