J. S. Fletcher

“ Brixey, I suppose?" she said. "The Mr. Brixey whose name is on the posters? Yes, but is it—shall we be absolutely private?"
"I can assure you of that, ma'am," answered Brixey, "There's nobody at all in this part of the house; that door's closed; nobody will come, and we can talk in whispers. ”

“ Brixey pulled out a card and laid it on the table.
"That's who I am," he said. "Now, that message which the man sent off from here was to me—I have the copy of it in my pocket. And I want to find out who he was. There's a great deal depends on it, Mr. Marrows. I gather from what your waitress says that he was a stranger here?"
"Absolute, mister! Never saw the man in my life before," declared the landlord. "And I've been in this house five-and-twenty years. I've a good memory for faces, too." ”

“ As for me, if you've come to tell me anything relating to my uncle. I'm as silent as—as a man can be! So——"
The mysterious visitor sat down in a chair on one side of the rickety table, and Brixey, taking the other, leaned towards her.
"Don't be afraid of anything!" he said reassuringly, "This is real privacy."
Without further delay the visitor pushed up the heavy swathings of veil, and Brixey found himself looking at an elderly woman, of a strongly marked countenance, who, now that she was unveiled, leaned nearer to him and regarded him with an attention equal to his own. ”