was an air of authority about Mr. Armathwaite that disconcerted Betty more than Walker's bluster. She went out and closed the front door. The agent ran and opened it again. The girl was standing on the path, clear of the porch, and gazing wistfully at the house.
"Will you mind your own business?" he grumbled. "The deuce take it, what's come to you to-day? You and your mother seem half crazy."
"We don't like folk to see the place at its worst," she said, rather defiantly.
"You're doing your best to turn Mr. Armathwaite against it, I should think," was the angry comment. "Now, don't touch this door again, and clear out, d'ye hear?"
Betty flushed. She was distressed, but dales' blood boils quickly when subjected to the fire of contumely.
"I haven't asked such a favor," she said. "And you might keep a civil tongue in your head."
Walker sniffed his annoyance. But why bandy words with this aggressive young woman? He swung on his heel.
"Sorry you should have met with such a queer reception, Mr. Armathwaite," he said. "I can't account for it. I really can't. Perhaps Mrs. Jackson feels hurt that I didn't let her know you were coming, but – "
"Never mind Mrs. Jackson or her daughter," said Armathwaite placidly. "I'll soon settle matters with them. Now, you have an inventory, I believe? Suppose we start here."
"Then you've decided to take the house, sir?"
"Yes, two hours ago, in Nuttonby."
"I wish all our clients were like you," laughed Walker. "You know what you want and see that you get it… Well, sir, as it happens, the inventory begins with the hall. I'll read, and you might note the items, stopping me if there's any doubt."
The agent rattled through his task, but was pulled up several times in dining-room and drawing-room, when a picture or two, some Sheffield plate, and various bits of china were missing. Black doubt seized the sharp Walker when this had happened for the fourth time. In all, there were seven disappearances, and, in each instance, the article was old and fairly valuable. Country villages, he reflected, were ransacked nowadays by collectors of curios. When opportunity served, he and Mrs. Jackson would have some earnest words.
But surprise and relief came in the discovery of the seven; they were piled, with a number of books, on a table in the library.
"I suppose some kind of spring cleaning is going on," he said sheepishly. "Now the cat is out of the bag. Why the deuce didn't Betty say so, and have done with it!"
"I imagine she was trying to tell us something of the sort," smiled the other unconcernedly. "Surely we have not got to check the titles of all these books?"
"No, sir. They're lumped together – about eight hundred volumes."
Armathwaite surveyed the shelves with the eye of a reader.
"That must be nearly right," he said, after a little pause. "I must not get mine mixed with my predecessor's. I've brought nearly two hundred myself."
Walker thought of the brown paper parcel, which seemed to have a certain solidity, but said nothing. In the first place, if eight hundred books occupied so much space, a quarter of that number would fit in no ordinary sheet of brown paper. Secondly, Mr. Armathwaite's manner did not invite unnecessary questions. The kitchen and scullery were soon dealt with. There was coal in a cellar, and a supply of wood, and a number of lamps drew attention to some tins of oil.
"How much for this lot?" inquired the would-be tenant.
"Nothing," said Walker, in a sudden fit of generosity. "These stores were left by Mrs. Wilkins, and lost sight of during the row. My, what a bother she raised!"
"Yet there is no ghost; we have Betty's word for it. Now – the bedrooms."
The "best" bedroom – that in the south-east angle – was certainly not in disorder. Indeed, it looked fresher and cleaner than any of the others; the bed was spotless; even the window-sill had been dusted recently.
"Of course," said the agent, "those two silly women have been tidying things up a bit for the season. I'm getting the hang of things by degrees. They're afraid I might think it should have been done sooner."
"Probably," agreed Armathwaite, who, however, held a somewhat different view. The girl was not afraid of Mr. James Walker. Of whom, then, or of what? If the inquiry interested him he would find out.
The remaining bedrooms held at least one year's dust.
A box-room, lumber-room, and servant's bedroom occupied the second floor. In the ceiling of a small lobby there was a trap-door.
"That leads to a space beneath the roof," said Walker. "By the way, there ought to be a ladder. It's gone."
Being, as has been seen, of active habit, he brought a chair from the bedroom, stood on it, pushed up the flap, and peered into the semi-obscurity of a triangular, rafter-lined attic, lighted only by a tiny square of glass cemented into one of the flat stone slabs of the roof.
"Oh, here it is," he announced. "Shall I pull it out?"
"No, thanks," said Armathwaite. "I don't suppose I shall mount so high again during my tenancy."
The younger man closed the trap, and, as it had been unfastened previously, shot a bolt into its socket.
"Well, that ends it," he said, brushing some grime off his hands. "If you care to stroll through the garden you'll find plenty of fruit coming on. This should be a good year for apples and plums, I'm told. It's too late to raise any potatoes or vegetables, but the village will supply plenty of table stuff, and cheap, too."
"Let me see," mused Armathwaite aloud. "Fifteen pounds rent, and, say, two guineas for your fee, and another guinea for the conveyance – eighteen pounds three shillings in all. Let us adjourn to the library, and I'll pay you, sign the agreement, and initial the inventory. Then I need not detain you any longer, Mr. Walker."
The agent looked blank, as well he might. He was flustered, too, by the terms offered for his valuable services.
"You don't mean that you're going to stay here straightaway, sir?" he cried.
"Yes. I came prepared for immediate occupation. That is why I brought my bag, and some groceries."
"Groceries!"
Walker was so astonished that he could only repeat the word.
"That parcel, you know. I'm an old campaigner – that is, I have much experience of camping out, under far less pleasant conditions than in a delightful house in a Yorkshire village. I shall be quite happy here."
"But there's a kind of an inn not far off; you'll come and have a snack there with me, sir?" was all that Walker could find to say at the moment.
"I'm much obliged to you, but I may not stir out again to-day. Shall we go down?"
They descended the stairs, which creaked loudly under their feet. Walker was puzzled to understand a cool customer of the Armathwaite type. He had never heard of a tenancy being entered into with such promptitude, yet there was no point in the stranger's behavior which he could fix on as definitely eccentric, or even unusual. The man evidently knew his own mind, and, if he paid up, the philosophy of Walker, senior, fitted the case admirably.
Still
