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Radbolt. "We'll get rid of it as soon as we can, won't we, Radbolt?" She always addressed her husband as "Radbolt." "Don't be in a hurry, don't throw it away," Beaumaroy advised. "It's not everybody's choice, of course, but there are quarters yes, more than one quarter in which you might get a very good offer for this place." His eye caught Mary's for a moment.
"From what the lawyers say, the old man seems to have been getting rid of his money, somehow or to somebody," she grumbled, in a positive whisper. To Mr. Naylor's intense relief, Beaumaroy interrupted this conversation. "Well, how do you like this little place, Mrs. Radbolt?" he asked cheerfully. "Not a bad little crib, is it? Don't you think so too, Dr. Arkroyd?"
Penrose who takes great interest in local records and traditions, told it to me. If our host desires, I shall be happy to tell it to Mrs. Radbolt." Mr. Naylor accompanied his words with a courtly little bow to that lady, and launched upon the legend of Captain Duggle. Mr. Radbolt was a religious man.
"Indeed I wish I was in a position to make you one myself. I should like to take it as it stands lock, stock and barrel. But I've sunk all I had in another venture hope it turns out a satisfactory one! So I'm not in a position to do it. If Mrs. Radbolt wants to sell, what would you think of it, Dr. Arkroyd, as a speculation?"
You always have the proper feelings, Radbolt." "The fault was mine, entirely mine," Beaumaroy hastily interposed. "I dragged in the old yarn, I led Mr. Naylor into telling it, I told you about what I said to Mr. Saffron and how he took it. All my fault! I acknowledge the justice of your rebuke. I apologize, Mr. Radbolt! And I think that we've exhausted the interest of the Tower."
Radbolt was a short plump man, with a weaselly face and cunning eyes; his wife's eyes, of a greeny color, stared stolidly out from her broad red face; she was taller than her mate, and her figure contrived to be at once stout and angular.
"Perhaps generally, but some rich pockets one may call pockets," corrected Beaumaroy. "I'm not an agriculturist," remarked weaselly Mr. Radbolt, in his oily tones. "And then there's a picturesque old yarn told about it oh, whether it's true or not, of course I don't know. It's about a certain Captain Duggle not the Army the Mercantile Marine, Mrs. Radbolt. You know the story Dr. Arkroyd?
He looked at his watch. "Er, how do you stand for time? Shall Mrs. Wiles make us a cup of tea, or have you a train to catch?" "That's the woman in charge of the house, isn't it?" asked Mrs. Radbolt. "Comes in for the day. She doesn't sleep here." He smiled pleasantly on Mrs. Radbolt. "To tell you the truth, I don't think that she would consent to sleep here by herself. Silly!
That might have seemed the best way of putting Beaumaroy off the scent. The green eyes were now alert, eager, immensely acquisitive. "The grave's in the Tower, if it's anywhere. Would you like to see the Tower, Mrs. Radbolt?" "Yes, I should," she answered tartly. "Being part of our property as it is." Mary exchanged a glance with Mr. Naylor, as they followed the others into the Tower.
But while he tackled one fellow, the other might get off with the money with as much as he could carry. For all that it was merely Radbolt money now; in the end Beaumaroy could not stomach the idea of that the idea that either of the dirty rogues in there should get off with the money. And it was foolish to attack them on the front on which they expected to be attacked.
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