The Secret of the Tower | Page 4

by. Neither man gave any sign of noticing their presence.
"Mr. Saffron, you said? Rather a queer name, but he looks a nice old
man; patriarchal, you know. What's the name of the other one?"
"I did hear; somebody mentioned him at the Naylors'--somebody who

had heard something about him in France. What was the name? It was
something queer too, I think."
"They've got queer names, and they live in a queer house!" Cynthia
actually gave a little laugh. "But are you going to walk all night, Mary
dear?"
"Oh, poor thing! I forgot you! You're tired? We'll turn back."
They retraced their steps, again passing Tower Cottage, into which its
occupants must have gone, for they were no longer to be seen.
"That name's on the tip of my tongue," said Mary in amused vexation.
"I shall get it in a moment!"
Cynthia had relapsed into gloom. "It doesn't matter in the least," she
murmured.
"It's Beaumaroy!" said Mary in triumph.
"I don't wonder you couldn't remember that!"
CHAPTER II
THE GENERAL REMEMBERS
Amongst other various, and no doubt useful, functions, Miss Delia
Wall performed that of gossip and news agent-general to the village of
Inkston. A hard-featured, swarthy spinster of forty, with a roving,
inquisitive, yet not unkindly eye, she perambulated--or rather
percycled--the district, taking stock of every incident. Not a cat could
kitten or a dog have the mange without her privity; critics of her mental
activity went near to insinuating connivance. Naturally, therefore, she
was well acquainted with the new development at Tower Cottage,
although the isolated position of that dwelling made thorough
observation piquantly difficult. She laid her information before an
attentive, if not very respectful, audience gathered round the tea-table at
Old Place, the Naylors' handsome house on the outskirts of Sprotsfield

and on the far side of the heath from Inkston. She was enjoying herself,
although she was, as usual, a trifle distrustful of the quality of Mr.
Naylor's smile; it smacked of the satiric. "He looks at you as if you
were a specimen," she had once been heard to complain; and, when she
said "specimen," it was obviously beetles that she had in mind.
"Everybody knows old Mr. Saffron--by sight, I mean--and the woman
who does for him," she said. "There's never been anything remarkable
about them. He took his walk as regular as clockwork every afternoon,
and she bought just the same things every week; her books must have
tallied almost to a penny every month, Mrs. Naylor! I know it! And it
was a very rare thing indeed for Mr. Saffron to go to London--though I
have known him to be away once or twice. But very, very rarely!" She
paused and added dramatically, "Until the armistice!"
"Full of ramifications, that event, Miss Wall. It affects even my
business." Mr. Naylor, though now withdrawn from an active share in
its conduct, was still interested in the large shipping firm from which
he had drawn his comfortable fortune.
She looked at him suspiciously, as he put the ends of the slender white
fingers of his two hands together, and leant forward to listen with that
smile of his and eyes faintly twinkling. But the problem was seething in
her brain; she had to go on.
"A week after the armistice Mr. Saffron went to London by the 9.50.
He traveled first, Anna."
"Did he, dear?" Mrs. Naylor, a stout and placid dame, was not yet
stirred to excitement.
"He came down by the 4.11, and those two men with him. And they've
been there ever since!"
"Two men, Delia! I've only seen one."
"Oh yes, there's another! Sergeant Hooper they call him; a short
thickset man with a black mustache. He buys two bottles of rum every

week at the Green Man. And--one minute, please, Mr. Naylor--"
"I was only going to say that it looks to me as if this man Hooper were,
or had been, a soldier. What do you think?"
"Never mind, Papa! Go on, Miss Wall. I'm interested." This
encouragement came from Gertie Naylor, a pretty girl of seventeen
who was consuming much tea, bread, and honey.
"And since then the old gentleman and this Mr. Beaumaroy go to town
regularly every week on Wednesdays! Now who are they, how did Mr.
Saffron get hold of them, and what are they doing here? I'm at a loss,
Anna."
Apparently an impasse! And Mr. Naylor did not seem to assist matters
by asking whether Miss Wall had kept a constant eye on the Agony
Column. Mrs. Naylor took up her knitting and switched off to another
topic.
"Dr. Arkroyd's friend, Delia dear! What a charming girl she looks!"
"Friend, Anna? I didn't know that! A patient, I understand, anyhow.
She's taking Valentine's beef juice. Of course they do give