THE MAN WHO GREW VEGETABLE MARROWS

 

I told Caroline at lunch time that I should be dining at Fernly. She expressed

no objection—on the contrary——

 

“Excellent,” she said. “You’ll hear all about it. By the way, what is the

trouble with Ralph?”

 

“With Ralph?” I said, surprised; “there’s isn’t any.”

 

“Then why is he staying at the Three Boars instead of at Fernly Park?”

 

I did not for a minute question Caroline’s statement that Ralph Paton was

staying at the local inn. That Caroline said so was enough for me.

 

“Ackroyd told me he was in London,” I said. In the surprise of the moment I

departed from my valuable rule of never parting with information.

 

“Oh!” said Caroline. I could see her nose twitching as she worked on this.

 

“He arrived at the Three Boars yesterday morning,” she said. “And he’s still

there. Last night he was out with a girl.”

 

That did not surprise me in the least. Ralph, I should say, is out with a girl