Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (207 page)

"Ah,
that
done
me
good,
Master
Henry,"
said
Patten,
after
absorbing
what
was
before
him.
"If
you
really
wish
to
know
what
were
in
my thoughts,
my
answer
would
be
clear
in
the
affirmative.
Yes,"
he
went on,
warming
to
his
work,
"I
should
say
as
Mr.
Fanshawe's
experience of
to-day
were
very
largely
doo
to
the
person
you
named.
And
I
think, Master
Henry,
as
I
have
some
title
to
speak,
in
view
of
me
'aving
been many
years
on
speaking
terms
with
him,
and
swore
in
to
be
jury
on the
Coroner's
inquest
near
this
time
ten
years
ago,
you
being
then,
if you
carry
your
mind
back,
Master
Henry,
travelling
abroad,
and
no one
'ere
to
represent
the
family."

"Inquest?"
said
Fanshawe.
"An
inquest
on
Mr.
Baxter,
was
there?"

"Yes,
sir,
on—on
that
very
person.
The
facts
as
led
up
to
that
occurrence
was
these.
The
deceased
was,
as
you
may
have
gathered,
a
very peculiar
individual
in
'is
'abits—in
my
idear,
at
least,
but
all
must speak
as
they
find.
He
lived
very
much
to
himself,
without
neither chick
nor
child,
as
the
saying
is.
And
how
he
passed
away
his
time
was what
very
few
could
orfer
a
guess
at."

"He
lived
unknown,
and
few
could
know
when
Baxter
ceased
to be,"
said
the
Squire
to
his
pipe.

"I
beg
pardon,
Master
Henry,
I
was
just
coming
to
that.
But
when I
say
how
he
passed
away
his
time—to
be
sure
we
know
'ow
intent
he was
in
rummaging
and
ransacking
out
all
the
'istry
of
the
neighbourhood
and
the
number
of
things
he'd
managed
to
collect
together— well,
it
was
spoke
of
for
miles
round
as
Baxter's
Museum,
and
many
a time
when
he
might
be
in
the
mood,
and
I
might
have
an
hour
to spare,
have
he
showed
me
his
pieces
of
pots
and
what
not,
going
back by
his
account
to
the
times
of
the
ancient
Romans.
However,
you know
more
about
that
than
what
I
do,
Master
Henry:
only
what
I was
a-going
to
say
was
this,
as
know
what
he
might
and
interesting
as he
might
be
in
his
talk,
there
was
something
about
the
man—well,
for one
thing,
no
one
ever
remember
to
see
him
in
church
nor
yet
chapel at
service-time.
And
that
made
talk.
Our
rector
he
never
come
in
the house
but
once.
'Never
ask
me
what
the
man
said';
that
was
all
anybody
could
ever
get
out
of
him.
Then
how
did
he
spend
his
nights, particularly
about
this
season
of
the
year?
Time
and
again
the
labouring
men'd
meet
him
coming
back
as
they
went
out
to
their
work,
and he'd
pass
'em
by
without
a
word,
looking,
they
says,
like
someone straight
out
of
the
asylum.
They
see
the
whites
of
his
eyes
all
round. He'd
have
a
fish-basket
with
him,
that
they
noticed,
and
he
always come
the
same
road.
And
the
talk
got
to
be
that
he'd
made
himself some
business,
and
that
not
the
best
kind—well,
not
so
far
from
where you
was
at
seven
o'clock
this
evening,
sir.