"A tall, thin gentleman in knickerbockers? Yes, sir," the man replied.
"Part of your description is correct," Tallente remarked drily. "Do you
know what he was doing here?"
"Been down to your house, I believe, sir. He arrived by the early train
this morning and asked the way to the Manor."
"To my house?" Tallente repeated incredulously.
"It was the Manor he asked for, sir," the station master assured his
questioner. "Begging your pardon, sir, is it true that he was Miller,
the Socialist M.P.?"
"True enough," was the brief reply. "What of it?"
The man coughed as he deposited the dispatch box which he had been
carrying on the seat of the waiting car.
"They think a lot of him down in these parts, sir," he observed, a
little apologetically.
Tallente made no answer to the station master's last speech and merely
waved his hand a little mechanically as the car drove off. His mind was
already busy with the problem suggested by Miller's appearance in these
parts. For the first few minutes of his drive he was back again in the
turmoil which he had left.
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