"From that day, amid all his cordiality, there was always a touch of suspicion in Mr. Trevor's manner towards me. Even his son remarked it.

'You've given the governor such a turn,' said he, 'that he'll never be sure again of what you know and what you don't know.' He did not mean to show it, I am sure, but it was so strongly in his mind that it peeped out at every action.

At last I became so convinced that I was causing him uneasiness that I drew my visit to a close.

On the very day, however, before I left, an incident occurred which proved in the sequel to be of importance.

We were sitting out upon the lawn on garden chairs, the three of us, basking in the sun and admiring the view across the Broads, when a maid came out to say that there was a man at the door who wanted to see Mr. Trevor.

'What is his name?' asked my host.

'He would not give any.' 'What does he want, then?' 'He says that you know him, and that he only wants a moment's conversation.' 'Show him round here.' An instant afterwards there appeared a little wizened fellow with a cringing manner and a shambling style of walking.

He wore an open jacket, with a splotch of tar on the sleeve, a red-andblack check shirt, dungaree trousers, and heavy boots badly worn.

His face was thin and brown and crafty, with a perpetual smile upon it, which showed an irregular line of yellow teeth, and his crinkled hands were half closed in a way that is distinctive of sailors.

As he came slouching across the lawn I heard Mr. Trevor make a sort of hiccoughing noise in his throat, and, jumping out of his chair, he ran into the house.