Текст книги "The Mammoth Book of the Lost Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes"

Автор книги: Denis O. Smith

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 31 (всего у книги 36 страниц)

“Very well. Pray continue.”

“For two days I heard nothing further. Then, on the evening of the third day, my uncle returned, but he returned alone. His expression was one of bitter resignation. ‘She refused to come back to us,’ was the only answer he would give to my questions. I was disappointed beyond description, and could not help but cry. At this my uncle became very angry. ‘Do not waste your tears,’ said he in a harsh voice. ‘Save them for a worthier cause!’ Then he went into his study and slammed the door shut behind him. From that day on, Edwin and I were forbidden to ever mention Aunt Margaret’s name again.

“That night I cried myself to sleep. After that, I saw nothing before us but patient endurance. We were living in a place that was not our home, with neither friends nor friendly relations, and with a guardian who clearly cared nothing for us. But at least Edwin and I still had each other. I became determined to make the best of the circumstances in which Fate had placed us.

“At that time, of course, Mr Theakston was still our tutor, and I am sure that we benefited greatly from his kind tuition. And if it was a pleasure to us to learn all about Literature and Geography, History and Botany, it appeared an equal pleasure to Mr Theakston to teach us, so that we tried hard – even Edwin – to do nothing that might disappoint him. When he left, in the abrupt circumstances I have described to you, another support was removed from our lonely existence. Miss Rogerson then took upon herself the duties of tutor, as I have mentioned, but it was clear she had no interest whatever in her new post. It thus fell to me to supplement the meagre education Edwin received at her hands. He had so often seen Mr Hartley Lessingham and his friends at cards, at all hours of the day and night, that he had developed a morbid interest in the subject and begged me to teach him some card games. Endeavouring to derive good from bad, I therefore decided to teach him some different types of patience – there is a book in the library at East Harrington, which contains instructions for many such games – in the hope that it might help his understanding of arithmetic and similar subjects.”

“And did it?” queried my wife in a kindly voice as Miss Borrow paused.

“Not very much, to be truthful,” the girl responded with a shake of the head, “but it has taught him true patience, at least: to endure, without anger or sorrow, what must be. For some of the games – The Lion and the Unicorn, especially – are very difficult of solution. So far I have taught him twenty-three different types, from Apples and Pears to The Scorpion, and there is not one that does not have its own particular moral lesson, if you look hard enough for it.” She blushed. “At least I think so,” she added in an uncertain tone.

“You are a very resourceful and imaginative young lady,” Holmes interrupted with a smile. “You have discovered that, as Shakespeare says, the uses of adversity may yet be sweet. But come, you have had a miserable time lately, for which you have our sympathy, but what is it that has brought you to the point of seeking our advice? If we are to help you in some way, we must know the most recent developments. Has there been any further communication with your aunt?”

“Six weeks after she left, a letter arrived for Mr Hartley Lessingham, bearing the postmark of Lewes in Sussex. The handwriting on the envelope was not that of my aunt, but I hoped that it might contain some news of her, and I asked my uncle if that were so. At first he would not speak of it and appeared very angry, for his face was white, but later he informed me that it was from Mr Edgar Shepherd, the old friend of my mother and father, and of my aunt, too, informing my guardian that Aunt Margaret was now residing in a cottage on the Shepherd family estate at Tattingham, in Sussex. My uncle told me that he had flung the letter into the fire.

“‘So now you know,’ said he in a bitter tone: ‘your aunt has brought shame upon us by deserting us, and now she has shamed us yet further, by taking up abode on the property of another man.’

“Miss Rogerson had happened to come into the room as we were speaking, and had overheard the tail end of the conversation. Now she spoke.

“‘Yes, Harriet,’ said she, nodding her head in agreement with my uncle’s words, ‘you must pray that you never bring shame upon your family, as your aunt has brought shame upon hers. Woe betide you if the blood in your veins is the shameful blood of your aunt! Now run along to the schoolroom. Edwin wishes to ask you about Queen Elizabeth.’

“‘Yes, ma’am,’ said I politely, but as the library door closed behind me, I confess that I could not stop myself sobbing. I was greatly upset by my aunt’s decision to make her home elsewhere. But she had always been very kind to me, and I knew she was not a bad woman. For my uncle to speak of her in that way was so unjust. Had it not been for his behaviour, she would never have left us. As for that odious woman, Susan Rogerson, with her painted face, vulgar jewellery and her mean and selfish nature, for her to speak of my aunt at all in her own house was the very grossest impertinence; for her to declare that my aunt was the one who had brought shame upon us was an affront to all honesty and decency.

“I had not gone ten steps from the library door when I heard the two of them laughing. At whom or what they were laughing, I knew not, but in my miserable state, their callous, unfeeling laughter struck like thorns in my heart.

“Several weeks passed. One morning I gathered my courage together and asked my guardian if I might write a letter to my aunt. At first he was very angry with me and refused to even speak of the possibility; but I asked him again a few days later, and again a few days after that, and eventually he said that I might, but that he would read the letter before it was posted, to see that I did not say anything foolish in it. I had no objection to this, as I simply wished to convey a little news to Aunt Margaret, in the hope that she would write back to us. This I did, and gave the letter to Mr Hartley Lessingham, who read it without finding anything in it to which he could object, addressed it for me and posted it himself. He would not tell me the address at which my aunt was staying. I think he feared that if I knew it, I would write a more candid letter to her behind his back.

“A week passed, and then my guardian informed me one morning that I had received a reply. He handed me the single sheet of paper at the breakfast table, explaining that he had opened the letter himself, although it had been addressed to me, because he wished to be sure that it did not contain anything unpleasant, which might upset me. He had also torn off the top of the sheet, where my aunt had written her address. He certainly did not wish me to be able to write to her in private, without his seeing exactly what I had written.”

“What did the letter say?” enquired Holmes.

“Little enough,” Miss Borrow replied. “To speak candidly, I was a little disappointed at its brevity. However, to have any communication at all from my aunt was like treasure to me in my lonely existence, and I read and reread the letter many times. I explained the lightness and inconsequentiality of it to myself by supposing that she suspected her husband would read it, and had therefore felt unable to reveal very much of her true feelings in it. She thanked me for the letter I had sent, and the news I had conveyed to her, and also for the picture of a cat that Edwin had drawn for her, which I had enclosed.

“She said she was living quietly, in seclusion, and was trying to make the best of her unhappy situation. She said that she sometimes now regretted her hasty decision to leave East Harrington, and wished she could alter what had happened, but could not. She enjoined me to try to be good, and always to do what was right, and to respect Mr Hartley Lessingham and always do as he bade me. She said she would write again when she had any more news, but in the meantime I should not write again – except if I had some matter of particular urgency to relate – for she did not think it quite right to do so, and it might annoy my guardian.

“Since then, I have often wished to write to Aunt Margaret again, but Mr Hartley Lessingham is implacably opposed to the suggestion. There are things I have wished so much to tell her. If she only knew all that has taken place at East Harrington since her departure, I am sure she would swallow her pride and return, even if it were only to pay us a visit.”

“Well, as you cannot tell your aunt,” said Holmes in an encouraging voice, “perhaps you could tell us. What has been happening at East Harrington?”

“I mentioned to you Mr Theakston’s abrupt departure, which was such a loss to us. Another unwelcome development is that Captain Legbourne Legge has spent much more time at East Harrington since my aunt left. He and Mr Hartley Lessingham sometimes ride out late in the evening and do not return until after midnight.”

“Do you know where it is they go?”

Miss Borrow shook her head. “Other things happen at night, too,” she continued. “Edwin has been very frightened by noises he has heard in the night, and by things he has seen.”

“What sort of things?”

“At the rear of East Harrington Hall is a flagged terrace,” Miss Borrow replied after a moment, “at the other side of which is an old-fashioned formal garden. In the very centre of the garden stands an old sundial. My bedroom overlooks this garden, as does Edwin’s. One night, very late, when I had been asleep for some time, Edwin came to my room, trembling with fear. He was in such a state that he could scarcely speak, but gradually, as I calmed him, he managed to tell me what it was that had frightened him so. He told me that he had heard noises outside, and when he had looked out he had seen a witch in the garden, doing something to the sundial. I looked from my window, but it was a very dark night and I could see no sign of anyone there. I told Edwin that he must have imagined it, that he had perhaps had a bad dream, and eventually, a little comforted and calmed, he returned to his own room.

‘‘The following morning, however, it happened that I awoke earlier than usual, and when I rose from my bed and drew back the curtains, my eye was at once drawn to the sundial, for I saw that upon the top of it there lay what appeared to be a piece of paper, held in place by a couple of small stones. I dressed hurriedly and ran downstairs and out into the garden, keen to see what it could be. When I reached the sundial, however, I received a great shock, for there was neither paper nor anything else upon the top of it, nor any sign that there ever had been. My suggestion to Edwin that he had simply imagined those things he thought he had seen was thus turned back upon myself, for it seemed the only explanation was that I must have imagined the paper I thought I had seen upon the sundial. Then I saw that upon the path at my feet were two small stones, larger than the gravel on which they lay, and of a slightly different colour. In an instant I was convinced that these were the stones I had seen upon the paper when I had looked from my bedroom window. Someone, it seemed, had removed the paper from the sundial while I was dressing.

“I did not mention this incident to Edwin, as I did not wish to alarm him, and I knew that he would believe that his ‘witch’ had left some magic spell upon the sundial in the garden, but I determined that I would henceforth keep my eyes and ears open in case there were any repeat of this mysterious incident. For two weeks I neither saw nor heard anything untoward, then one night I was awakened by some noise or other. On a sudden impulse I drew back the bedroom curtain and looked out into the garden. It was a bright, moonlit night, and the ornamental bushes were throwing strong shadows across the lawns. Even as I looked, I saw a figure – an old crone – emerge from the deep shadow of a tall hedge and cross the lawn with a crooked, halting gait, until she reached the sundial. For some time, she remained motionless, her back bent over the sundial. What she was doing there, I could not see. Then, in the same furtive, shuffling manner, she returned whence she had come. I strained my eyes then, to see if any paper had been left upon the sundial, but clouds had now obscured the moon and it was too dark to see.”

“One moment,” interrupted Holmes. “Did you think this person in the garden was anyone you had ever seen before?”

“I think not, but I could not be certain on the point. My bedroom window was some distance off, and the figure was very hunched over, with her face turned away. Her appearance, as Edwin had said, was very like that of a witch in a storybook.”

“Very well. Pray, continue!”

“In the morning I was tired and slept late. But when the events of the night came back to me, I sprang at once from my bed and peered from the window. There upon the sundial was a small sheet of white paper. At that very moment, however, before I had moved from the window, someone emerged from the house and crossed the terrace directly to the sundial. It was Captain Legbourne Legge. I watched as he took up the sheet of paper and cast to the ground the stones that had lain upon it. Then he turned and returned to the house, studying the paper as he went.”

“From where had he come?” asked Holmes.

“The morning room. It has a French window which gives directly onto the terrace.”

“Were you able to learn any more of this mysterious business?”

Miss Borrow shook her head. “No reference was made to it in my hearing, and I dared not bring the matter up myself.”

“Has there been any repeat of this occurrence?”

“I do not know. There may have been, but I have seen nothing. But other things have occurred.”

“The details, please, Miss Borrow – but you must speak quickly, for the time at our disposal is rapidly flying by! You mentioned in your letter that your brother had nearly been killed. What did you mean by that?”

“I mentioned to you that under Mr Theakston’s kindly guidance, Edwin and I had often made expeditions to all parts of the East Harrington estate when the weather permitted it. Mr Theakston’s departure was followed by a period of very wet weather, and we were confined to the house for several weeks, but as the weather brightened up, we enjoyed rambling about the countryside once more whenever we could, and Edwin began to take himself off for solitary ‘explorations’, as he called them. I saw no harm in this and did not give it a second thought. But when Mr Hartley Lessingham learned of Edwin’s expeditions, he became very angry.

“‘You must not go off alone, do you hear?’ cried he one day, his voice quivering with rage. ‘It is not acceptable when you disappear for hours at a time and no one knows where you are! Why, anything might happen! And, in particular, you must never again go near the river or the mill! They are very dangerous places, and are not for disobedient, stupid little boys! You disobey me again, and I shall give you such a good hiding that you will not sit down for a month! Do you hear?’

“I had never before seen our guardian so angry with Edwin. His face had turned purple, as Edwin’s had turned white with fear, and I thought he would strike him. But then, with a horrible oath, he turned on his heel, stamped into the library and slammed the door shut behind him.”

“One moment,” interrupted Holmes. “The mill he mentioned – is it the same one as your guardian and Mr Theakston were discussing on the evening of the latter’s departure? Dedstone Mill, I believe you called it.”

Miss Borrow nodded her head. “That is correct,” replied she. “It is a huge watermill, which stands beside the river, about three miles from East Harrington. It is the property of Mr Hartley Lessingham. It used to bring him a good income, so I understand, especially as his tenants were all obliged under the terms of their leases to send their grain there. This caused some ill-feeling, for the mill was old and dilapidated, dangerously so many said, and the machinery was constantly breaking down. It has needed repairing for many years, but nothing has ever been done to it. There have been many complaints in recent years of wasted grain, either through spillage or attack by mould. The situation was perhaps exacerbated by the fact that there is a rival mill at Ollington, just eight miles away. It is very modern, and everyone says how much better it is; and not only is it better, it is also cheaper.”

“You appear to be remarkably well informed on the matter.”

“I have overheard things. Besides, it would be difficult not to be well informed, for it is one of the leading topics of conversation in the district. Several times Mr Hartley Lessingham’s tenants have come to ask him if they might use the mill at Ollington for some, at least, of their grain, but he would not hear of it. Nor would he authorize any improvements to be made to the mill at Dedstone. Matters came to a head about a year ago. One night a fire broke out in the mill, which destroyed part of the building, including some of the machinery, and rendered it unusable. My guardian was furious, declaring that the fire had been started deliberately and he would have the culprits hanged, but no evidence could be found to suggest who might have been responsible. Since then the mill has stood idle, becoming more dilapidated and dangerous with every week that has passed.”

“The local farmers now use the mill at Ollington, presumably,” interposed Holmes.

Miss Borrow nodded. “Mr Hartley Lessingham could not deny them that right. But he has insisted that they pay him a fee for the privilege, that fee being the difference between what he would have charged them for using the mill at Dedstone and the lower amount they are charged at Ollington. He says the money will be used for the repair work necessary at Dedstone Mill, but no repair work has so far been undertaken.”

“So of course, there is still resentment,” said Holmes. “But why should your tutor, Mr Theakston, have been discussing the matter with Mr Hartley Lessingham, I wonder? This was in the spring, you say?”

“Yes, in April.”

“When the mill had already been closed for about six months?”

“That is so,” said Miss Borrow. “It may be,” she suggested, “that Mr Theakston was giving it as his opinion that the mill was dangerously unsafe, which it is, and that if Mr Hartley Lessingham did not intend to have it repaired, then he should have it pulled down. He was perhaps thinking of what happened to Mr Jeremiah Meadowcroft. If this was the cause of the quarrel between them, then Mr Theakston has been proved quite right, for it was at the mill that Edwin suffered his recent accident. At least, they said it was an accident, but I am not sure that I believe them. If it was an accident they should feel sorry for him, but instead he has been locked in his room as a punishment. I have not been allowed to see him for two weeks, and I fear he is very ill.”

“One moment,” interposed Holmes, holding his hand up to stem the flow of Miss Borrow’s narrative, which had been delivered in a breathless, impassioned rush. “Who is Jeremiah Meadowcroft, and what, pray, happened to him?”

“He was the manager of the mill when it was in working order. He was found drowned in the river during the floods last winter.”

“When, precisely?”

“Towards the end of February.”

“Were the facts of the matter established?”

“They said he had been drinking at the inn at Dedstone, and was returning late at night to the mill, where he lived. It was supposed that he had missed his footing in the dark. The riverbank was very slippery and muddy at the time, on account of the flooding. Mr Meadowcroft was a well-known drunkard, so the manner of his death, although tragic, did not occasion any great surprise in the district. Several witnesses attested that he had been drinking very heavily in the weeks immediately preceding his death.”

“I see. Now, what is this accident that your brother has suffered? This is the matter you referred to in your letter, I take it?”

The young girl nodded her head vigorously. “Two months ago, I chanced to walk into the library at East Harrington Hall when Mr Hartley Lessingham was in conversation with Miss Rogerson. I heard him say, ‘I’ll get rid of them as soon as I can, one way or another.’ Then he turned and saw me, and after a moment said something about horses being no use if they wouldn’t jump, so he’d have to get rid of them; but I could tell from the tone of his voice that that was something he had just made up at that very moment. I am certain that, really, he had been speaking of Edwin and me.”

“And what has happened to Edwin?”

“For a time, as you will imagine, Mr Hartley Lessingham’s stern warnings and threats had their desired effect and Edwin ceased his exploratory adventures. Recently, however, he has started to wander off again on a variety of pretexts, and nothing I say can dissuade him. His latest excuse is that he wishes to collect chestnuts, acorns and the like, for a nature display in the schoolroom, but I have feared all along that he would get himself into mischief again. Two weeks last Saturday, what I had dreaded came to pass. Unbeknown to me, Edwin had gone off to explore the estate with a map, which we ourselves had made in the spring, with the help of Mr Theakston. I was sitting, reading a book in my bedroom, and the house was very quiet, when I heard a sudden commotion downstairs. I hurried from my room and peered down into the hallway. There stood Captain Legbourne Legge, dripping wet, speaking to Mr Hartley Lessingham and holding in his arms a sodden bundle. Then I realized that the sodden bundle was Edwin, who was limp and unconscious. I ran downstairs, and as I did so it seemed to me my guardian said something like, ‘A pity you couldn’t have finished him off.’ Captain Legbourne Legge began to say, ‘There were peasants from Dedstone there,’ but then he saw me, nodded his head in my direction and they stopped speaking.

“‘What has happened to Edwin?’ I cried.

“‘He has fallen into the river, near the mill,’ said Mr Hartley Lessingham, turning round with an expression of great anger upon his face. ‘Luckily for him, Captain Legbourne Legge was in the area, heard his cry for help and managed to fish him out. Otherwise, he would certainly have drowned. I have told him over and over again not to play near the river, and have strictly forbidden him from going anywhere near the mill. It is extremely dangerous, as you know very well, Harriet. Now see what has happened!’

“‘I did not encourage him to go there,’ I returned, feeling that my guardian was trying to blame me for what had occurred.

“‘But nor did you discourage him, either,’ said he in an angry voice. ‘I’ve a good mind to beat the pair of you till you’re black and blue! Take him up to his room, Legge,’ he continued, turning to the other man, ‘and I’ll get Mrs Hardcastle to deal with him.’

“I have not seen Edwin again since that moment, for he has been confined to his bedroom for the last two weeks, as a punishment for disobeying his guardian, and I am not allowed to visit him.”

“Do you know his state of health?” Holmes enquired.

“I am informed that he is getting better now, but I do not know whether I really believe it. I have heard him crying out in the middle of the night in a pitiful voice, as if in pain. I pleaded with my uncle that I be allowed to inform Aunt Margaret of Edwin’s illness, but he simply brushed aside my requests.

“‘Edwin will be well soon enough,’ said he when last I spoke to him on the subject. ‘Besides, there is nothing your aunt could do for him. He is receiving all the attention he needs – and more than he deserves, quite frankly – from Mrs Maybury and Mrs Hardcastle.’”

“Who are these ladies?” interrupted Holmes.

“Mrs Maybury was housekeeper at East Harrington Hall when my aunt was there, a position of some responsibility, but after Miss Rogerson’s arrival her position was altered and she was reduced to simply doing Miss Rogerson’s bidding. I know that she has been very upset by all that has happened at East Harrington in the last two years, for I chanced to overhear her once, saying as much to Hammond, the butler. I believe they both would have left long ago were it not that they are somewhat advanced in years and would experience difficulty in finding other positions. Mrs Maybury is a kind and friendly woman, and I am sure that she would do the best for Edwin, if the responsibility for his care lay in her hands, but in fact it does not, and my guardian’s use of her name to me was a lie. For when I asked her at the end of last week if Edwin was improving, she answered me with a look of surprise.

“‘Bless you, my dear!’ said she. ‘I wish I knew, but they won’t let me near him. Mrs Hardcastle has the key of the room and won’t let anyone else in.’

“Mrs Hardcastle is very different from Mrs Maybury. She is a large, coarse and ignorant woman, who has often caused trouble in the servants’ hall, and I know that Edwin has always been afraid of her. She comes of a local family, the Bagnalls, who are well known in the district as ne’er-do-wells and trouble-makers. Her sister, who is a half-wit and drunkard, was in trouble last year for throwing stones and breaking windows in the village. Mrs Hardcastle’s own husband is at present in Bedford gaol, serving a sentence for robbery. Why on earth Mr Hartley Lessingham should have entrusted Edwin’s care to such a woman I cannot imagine.” Tears welled up in our young companion’s eyes as she spoke these last words, but she wiped them away briskly with the back of her hand. “When I heard that Miss Rogerson was going up to London for a few days on some business of her own, I at once thought of you, Mr Holmes. I begged that I might accompany Miss Rogerson, in order, I said, to read something of my father’s family in the library, but my only desire, in reality, was to speak to you and plead with you to help us. If you cannot, I do not know what will become of us.”

Holmes sat a moment in silence, his elbows on the table, his chin resting on his fingertips.

“There is no one to whom you can turn?” he enquired at last, “no relative or friend whom I could inform of your situation, and who might perhaps take an interest?”

Miss Borrow shook her head. “Apart from Aunt Margaret,” she replied, her lip quivering slightly, “there is no one.”

“Very well,” said Holmes, “I shall do what I can. You have no idea of your aunt’s address?”

“Only that it is somewhere near Tattingham in Sussex, I believe.”

“Quite so. And Mr Theakston’s address? I think I should like to have a word with that gentleman, if it is possible.”

“As a matter of fact, I do remember that,” Miss Borrow replied, brightening up slightly. “He mentioned to us once or twice that his mother lived at Rose Cottage, in the village of Hembleby, near Wetherby, in Yorkshire. His father had been a teacher in Wetherby, I believe, but died some years ago. His mother then took Rose Cottage which, Mr Theakston said, stands beside the village green, close by the church. I am sure that a letter to Rose Cottage would find him.”

“Excellent!” said Holmes, taking out his notebook. “You see, Miss Borrow, we are making progress already!” He glanced at his watch. “Our allotted time is nearly up, and Miss Rogerson may return at any moment. Would you be so good as to wait by the door, Watson, and give a signal if you see her coming? I wish to take down a few particulars.”

I did as he requested, and a few minutes later observed the carriage in which Miss Borrow had arrived draw up once more at the front of the library. I caught my wife’s eye, nodded my head, and saw her speak to Miss Borrow, who at once stood up from the table and made a show of examining the books on a nearby shelf. It was fortunate that she had acted so promptly, for as I turned back to the doorway, Miss Rogerson herself pushed past me with a swish of skirts. “I thought I told you to wait at the doorway,” I heard her say in a harsh tone to Miss Borrow. The girl mumbled some reply and followed the older woman meekly from the room. In a moment, I had rejoined my two companions at the table.

“Miss Borrow and Miss Rogerson return to Leicester-shire on Friday afternoon,” remarked Holmes as I sat down. “Miss Borrow has requested, however, that before she and Miss Rogerson leave London, she be allowed to pay a visit to the church of St Martin-within-Ludgate, where there is apparently a memorial to the Borrow family. She will be at St Martin’s on Friday morning, and I have told her that I shall try to speak to her then, with any information I have managed to acquire.”

“What do you intend to do?” I asked.

My friend shook his head, a wry expression upon his face. “Miss Borrow reminds me a little of a distant relative of mine, with whom I once had a connection. She is a plucky girl, and as such deserves our help. But it is a delicate matter,” said he, “and the best course of action is not yet clear to me. Will you come with me to St Martin’s, Watson?”

“I should certainly wish to, if I may.”

“Then meet me at the corner of Fleet Street and Farringdon Street at a quarter to eleven on Friday morning and I may have some news of the matter.”

St Martin-within-Ludgate

My wife and I discussed the matter for some time that evening, but could not think what to suggest. The circumstances in which Harriet Borrow and her brother found themselves were not ideal. That could scarcely be denied. But the circumstances of many children, it had to be admitted, were far from ideal. At least the Borrow children appeared to be well clothed and well nourished, and Hartley Lessingham’s violent, frightening threats notwithstanding, they did not appear to have been seriously ill-treated.

Of Hartley Lessingham himself, it was difficult to know what to think. He was clearly a man of strong, dominating character, who pursued his own forceful course through life, and did not care to be crossed in any way. My wife remarked that he would not be the first person one would consider when drawing up a list of invitations to a dinner party, and I could hardly disagree with that, but fortunately for many people, it is no crime in the eyes of the law to be thoroughly obnoxious. For a man of his type, coarse and selfish as he appeared to be, to have someone else’s children visited upon him must have seemed a scarcely bearable imposition, but for all his evident short-tempered intolerance of their childish ways, he did not appear to have done anything seriously wrong as far as the Borrow children were concerned, and had even appeared, in his own angry way, to show some concern for the young boy’s safety.