(half getting out of his seat). Mrs. Tremayne, I must not listen
to this.

BELINDA (meekly). I won't offend again, Mr. Baxter. Please go on. Tell
me about the quest; are you winning?

BAXTER. I am progressing, Mrs. Tremayne. Indeed, I came here this
morning to acquaint you with the results of my investigations. Yesterday
I located a man called Robinson working upon a farm close by. I ventured
to ask him if he had any marks upon him by which he could be recognized.
He adopted a threatening attitude, and replied that if I wanted any he
could give me some. With the aid of half-a-crown I managed to placate
him. Putting my inquiry in another form, I asked if he had any moles.
A regrettable misunderstanding, which led to a fruitless journey to
another part of the village, was eventually cleared up, and on my return
I satisfied myself that this man was in no way related to your niece.

BELINDA (admiringly). How splendid of you! Well, now, we know _he's_
not. (She holds up one finger.)

BAXTER. Yes. In the afternoon I located another Mr. Robinson following
the profession of a carrier. My first inquiries led to a similar
result, with the exception that in this case Mr. Robinson carried his
threatening attitude so far as to take off his coat and roll up his
sleeves. Perceiving at once that he was not the man, I withdrew.

BELINDA. How brave you are! That makes two. (She holds up another
finger). It still leaves a good many. (Pleadingly.) Just call me Belinda
again.

BAXTER (nervously). You mustn't tempt me, Mrs. Tremayne.

BELINDA (penitently). I won't!

BAXTER. To resume, then, my narrative. This morning I have heard of a
third Mr. Robinson. Whether there is actually any particular fortune
attached to the number three I cannot say for certain. It is doubtful
whether statistics would be found to support the popular belief. But one
likes to flatter oneself that in one's own case it may be true; and so--

BELINDA. And so the third Mr. Robinson--?

BAXTER. Something for which I cannot altogether account inspires me with
hope. He is, I have discovered, staying at Mariton. This afternoon I go
to look for him.

BELINDA (to herself). Mariton! How funny! I wonder if it's the same one.

BAXTER. What one?

BELINDA. Oh, just one of the ones. (Gratefully.) Mr. Baxter, you are
doing all this for _me_.

BAXTER. Pray do not mention it. I don't know if it's Devonshire, or the
time of the year, or the sort of atmosphere you crea