half-humorous, half-quizzical expression. He was an elderly,
clean-shaven, grey-haired man, spare of figure, dressed in rusty black;
a wisp of white neckcloth at his throat gave him something of a clerical
appearance: Cotherstone, who knew next to nothing about him, except that
he was able to pay his rent and taxes, had already set him down as a
retired verger of some cathedral.

"I should think you and Mr. Mallalieu are in no need of a bit of money,
Mr. Cotherstone," he said quietly. "Business seems to be good with you,
sir."

"Oh, so-so," replied Cotherstone, off-handedly. "Naught to complain of,
of course. I'll give you a receipt, Mr. Kitely," he went on, seating
himself at his desk and taking up a book of forms. "Let's
see--twenty-five pounds a year is six pound five a quarter--there you
are, sir. Will you have a drop of whisky?"

Kitely laid a handful of gold and silver on the desk, took the receipt,
and nodded his head, still watching Cotherstone with the same
half-humorous expression.

"Thank you," he said. "I shouldn't mind."

He watched Cotherstone produce a decanter and glasses, watched him fetch
fresh water from a filter in the corner of the room, watched him mix the
drinks, and took his own with no more than a polite nod of thanks. And
Cotherstone, murmuring an expression of good wishes, took a drink
himself, and sat down with his desk-chair turned towards his visitor.

"Aught you'd like doing at the house, Mr. Kitely?" he asked.

"No," answered Kitely, "no, I can't say that there is."

There was something odd, almost taciturn, in his manner, and Cotherstone
glanced at him a little wonderingly.

"And how do you like Highmarket, now you've had a spell of it?" he
inquired. "Got settled down, I suppose, now?"

"It's all that I expected," replied Kitely. "Quiet--peaceful. How do you
like it?"

"Me!" exclaimed Cotherstone, surprised. "Me?--why, I've had--yes,
five-and-twenty years of it!"

Kitely took another sip from his glass and set it down. He gave
Cotherstone a sharp look.

"Yes," he said, "yes--five-and-twenty years. You and your partner, both.
Yes--it'll be just about thirty years since I first saw you. But--you've
forgotten."

Cotherstone, who had been lounging forward, warming his hands at the
fire, suddenly sat straight up in his chair. His face, always sharp
seemed to grow sharper as he turned to his visitor with a questioning
look.

"Since--what?" he demanded.

"Since I first s