CHAPTER III

Pellison glanced at his watch as soon as he got outside Lady Delladale’s room. Five-fifteen. Two hours and a quarter before dinner—time for what he wanted. And to get on with that he hurried downstairs and out into the Market Place and Straight towards the Post Office; although twenty-five years had elapsed since his last visit to Ashminster he had not forgotten his bearings. The first person Pellison saw—to take any note of—as he hastened along the street was the pseudo Captain Lampard, better known to him now as …