Sax Rohmer

“ I understood that Friar's Park was of great interest."
"Oh, ah!" murmured my acquaintance. "Oh, ah! Maybe you was thinkin' of lookin' over it like?"
"I was—yes."
"Oh, ah! Well—there's some likes a bit o' danger."
"Danger?" I echoed. "To what danger do you refer?"
He surveyed me with cunning, old rheumy eyes, and:
"What about man-traps?" he inquired. "Ain't man-traps dangerous? And what about shot-guns? Shot-guns can make a party feel sick, can't they? Oh, ah!"
"But," I exclaimed, "you surely don't mean that there are traps laid in the grounds of the Park? ”

“ He drained his tankard and set it down on the table with a bang.
"He's been the ruin o' these parts, he has. He's worse than the turnip-fly."
"But in what way is he responsible for these evils of which you complain?" ”

“ Poor Mr. Roger was born in Egypt. It was eight years come October they returned home to Park, and six years come September poor young Mr. Roger died."
"Then Lady Coverly must be something over forty years of age," said I musingly.
One of my theories, a wild one, I must confess, was shattered by this piece of information. In short I had conceived the idea (and the news that Lady Coverly had resided for some years in Egypt had strengthened it) that the woman in the case was none other than the mistress of Friar's Park! ”

“ Oh, ah, real black he is—not half-and-half like his master, but as black as a lump o' coal, an' ugly—oh, ah, he's ugly right enough. Goes up to the Abbey Inn of a night he do, him and that there Gipsy Hawkins, the prettiest pair o' rascals in Upper Crossleys. Drove all the decent folk away from the place, and Martin keeps the best beer about here, too. ”

“ But the evil eye, I'm told, goes with the evil heart, and that man's heart's as black as his face. Blacker," he added, on second thoughts.
"Yet you have no positive evidence that Dr. Greefe is responsible for the setting of these man-traps and the attitude of Hawkins?"
"Nobody has," declared my acquaintance earnestly. "If anybody had, we'd have had the law on him long ago."
"And is Lady Burnham often seen about?" I inquired. ”

“ It isn't legal. And why should any one shoot at visitors?"
"Maybe 'cause they're told to," he shouted. "Aye—that's the reason as like as not; 'cause they're told to."
"Who are 'they'?"
"Old Gipsy Hawkins as used to be Sir Burnham's under-keeper. What's he doin' of up there at Park all day? Layin' traps and such—that's what he's doin' of. My son Jim knows it, he do. My son Jim found one of 'em—and left best part of a pair of trousers in it, too!"
These statements if true would seem to cast an unpleasant sidelight upon the character of my acquaintance of the Abbey Inn. ”