Do
you know why he went, or where he's gone, Mat?"
"Not I," Mr. Brook answered, rather nervously, and reddening as he
spoke.
The police-officer watched and listened even more intently than before.
The conversation was becoming every moment more interesting for him.
"How should I know where Mr. Maunders has gone?" asked Matthew Brook,
rather peevishly, as he paused from smoking to refill his honest clay
pipe. "How should I know where he's gone, or how long he means to stay
away? I know nothing of him, except that he seems a jolly, good-hearted
sort of a chap in his own rough-and-ready way. James Harwood brought
him up to the castle one night for a hand at whist and a bit of supper,
and he seemed to take a regular fancy to some of us, and asked us to
take a glass now and then down at his place, which we did; and that's
all about it; and I don't mean to stand any more cross-questioning."
"Why, Brook," cried his friend, the butler, "what's come to you? It
isn't like you to answer any man in that way, least of all such on old
friend as me."
Mr. Brook took no notice of this reproach. He went on smoking silently.
"I say, Harris," said the butler, presently, when the landlord of the
"Hen and Chickens" came into the room to attend upon his customers, "do
you know whether the landlord of the 'Cat and Fiddle' has come back
yet?"
"No, he ain't," answered Mr.
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