She broke at once into explanation and apology.

“I quite thought you would be here. I had no idea of coming in by myself-I was really quite upset when I found I was the first. Of course, as Mr. Taylor kindly said, someone has to be-but I wouldn’t have gone in, only I was delayed just as I was starting, so I thought I was late. My watch-”

Geoffrey Taverner said in a repressive tone,

“Your watch is always wrong.”

He took a chair and addressed Mr. Taylor.

“I don’t quite know why we have been asked to come here. I answered an advertisement asking the descendants of Jeremiah Taverner who died in eighteen-eighty-eight to communicate with a certain box number, and after a brief interchange of letters my sister and I were invited to come here this afternoon. My first letter went, as I say, to a box number. The reply which I received had no signature, and I must say at once that I should like to know with whom I am dealing.”

“Certainly, Mr. Taverner. You are dealing with me.”

“And you represent?”

“Mr. Jacob Taverner, who is the son of Jeremiah Taverner’s eldest son, Jeremiah.”

Geoffrey appeared to consider this. After a moment he said,

“Very well-I’m here. What about it?”

John Taylor balanced a pencil.

“My client informs me that you have satisfied him as to your identity.”

“He has had copies of our birth certificates and of my parents’ marriage certificate-yes.”

“I am instructed to ask for a few further particulars. You are, I understand, the grandson of Matthew Taverner, Jeremiah’s second son.”

“That is so.”

“Do you remember him?”

“I have already been asked that. I said I did. I was about twelve when he died. My sister was older.”

“I remember him very well,” said Mildred Taverner. “He had a very bad temper before he had his stroke, but he was much nicer afterwards. He used to tell us stories about the old inn and give us peppermints out of a tin-the striped bullseye kind.”