"Up all night? Anything going on in the town?"
"Nothing going on, sir."
"Anybody ill?"
"Nobody ill, sir."
That reply is the last. Try as I may, I can extract nothing more from him.
He turns away and busies himself in attending to the horse's leg. I leave
the stable to speak to the landlord about the carriage which is to take us
back to Farleigh Hall. Mrs. Fairbank remains with the hostler, and favors
me with a look at parting. The look says plainly, "_I_ mean to find out
why he was up all night. Leave him to Me."
The ordering of the carriage is easily accomplished. The inn possesses one
horse and one chaise. The landlord has a story to tell of the horse, and a
story to tell of the chaise. They resemble the story of Francis
Raven--with this exception, that the horse and chaise belong to no
religious persuasion. "The horse will be nine year old next birthday. I've
had the shay for four-and-twenty year. Mr. Max, of Underbridge, he bred
the horse; and Mr. Pooley, of Yeovil, he built the shay. It's my horse and
my shay. And that's _their_ story!" Having relieved his mind of these
details, the landlord proceeds to put the harness on the horse. By way of
assisting him, I drag the chaise into the yard. Just as our preparations
are completed, Mrs. Fairbank appears. A moment or two later the hostler
follows her out. He has bandaged the horse's leg, and is now ready to
drive us to Farleigh Hall. I observe signs of agitation in his face and
manner, which suggest that my wife has found her way into his confidence.
I put the question to her privately in a corner of the yard. "Well? Have
you found out why Francis Raven was up all night?"
Mrs. Fairbank has an eye to dramatic effect. Instead of answering plainly,
Yes or No, she suspends the interest and excites the audience by putting a
question on her side.
"What is the day of the month, dear?"
"The day of the month is the first of March."
"The first of March, Percy, is Francis Raven's birthday."