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Updated: June 17, 2025
Hardly conscious that he was doing so, Radmore turned round, and began walking quietly on along the dark road, with Timmy trotting by his side. "What I believed," he muttered, half to himself, "was that George was safe in India, and probably not even allowed to volunteer." "George never went to India," said Timmy soberly.
It's Piper's idea that five hundred pounds is. 'E says 'twould ease 'is conscience to carry on the pore old Colonel's dog-breeding. As for me, I'd just as lief 'ave 'im in a good job what gentlefolk call 'a cushy job' with a gentleman like this Major Radmore seems to be. But there! Piper's just set on them nasty dogs, and 'e's planned it all out." "Five hundred pounds is a great deal of money."
She was quite determined not to mix up Piper with Godfrey Radmore, but she had a queer, uncomfortable feeling that she had not done with this man yet. At last she fell into a heavy, troubled, worried sleep the kind of sleep from which a woman always wakes unrefreshed.
For some moments she stood there, unseen, watching the eager party gathered round the table, and as she did so, she looked with a curious, yearning feeling at each of the young folk in turn. How changed, how utterly changed, they all were since Godfrey Radmore had last been in that familiar room! The least changed, of course, was Betty.
There's something I want to ask you." Unwillingly he obeyed. "I think you knew Colonel Crofton?" "Yes, and I liked him very much." "I'm afraid from what I've heard that she wasn't a particularly good wife to him." Radmore was surprised at the feeling in her voice, but he asked himself irritably how the devil had Miss Pendarth heard anything of the Croftons and their private affairs?
She disappeared into a glass-house built across a corner of her garden, and he settled down to read the long newspaper columns. Soon his feeling quickened into intense interest. The local Essex reporter had a turn for descriptive writing, and, as he read, Godfrey Radmore saw the scene described rise vividly before him.
The first name was "Thomas Ingleton," then came "Mons, 22nd August, 1914." Immediately below, bracketed together, came "Peter and Paul Cobbett," followed, in the one case, by the date October 15, 1915, and in the other, November 19, 1915. And then, in the wavering light, there seemed to start out another name and date. Radmore uttered an exclamation of sharp pain, almost of anger.
Had he been alone he would have felt like a ghost walking up the quiet, empty village street. The presence of the child and the dog made him feel so real. The two trudged on in silence for a bit, and then Radmore asked in a low voice: "Is that busy-body, Miss Pendarth, still alive?"
Above it were two good bedrooms the one still called "George's room," over-looked the garden, and had a charming view of bracken-covered hill beyond. Timmy opened the door with a flourish, and Radmore saw at once that only one of the two beds was made up; otherwise the room was exactly the same, with this one great outstanding difference that it had a curiously unlived-in look.
There he felt his way with his fingers along the wall to the room which had always been called, as long as he could remember, "George's room." Turning the handle of the door slowly, he saw, to his great surprise and gladness, that his godfather was not asleep. Radmore was sitting up in bed, reading luxuriously by the light of four candles which he had placed on a table by his bedside.
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