"Oh, no, sir—really." Mrs. Benker rose also.
"Nonsense.
You swore that I was Walter when we first met.
Take a good look at me now, so that you may be sure that I am not he.
I don't want to have his rascalities placed on my shoulders."
Mrs. Benker took a good look and sighed.
"You're not him, but you're very like.
May I ask if you are twins, sir?"
"No.
Our eyes are the only things that we have in common.
We got those from our mother, who was an Italian.
I take after my mother, and am black, as you see me.
My brother favored my father, who was as red as an autumn sunset."
"He was indeed red," sighed Mrs. Benker, wrapping her shawl round her; "and now, sir, I hope you'll humbly forgive me for——"
"That's all right, Mrs. Benker.
I only explained myself at length because I am so sick of having my brother's sins imputed on me. I hope he paid your rent."
"Oh, yes, sir, he did that regularly."
"Indeed," sneered Franklin; "then he is more honest than I gave him credit for being.
Because if he had not paid you I should have done so.
You seem to be a decent woman and——"
"A widow!" murmured Mrs. Benker, hoping that he would give her some money.
But this Mr. Franklin had no intention of doing.
"You can go now," he said, pointing with his stick towards an ornamental bridge; "that is the best way to the high-road.
And, Mrs. Benker, if my brother should return to you let me know."
"And the police, sir," she faltered.
"I'll tell the police myself," said the man, frowning. "Good day."
Mrs. Benker, rather disappointed that she should have received no money, and wishing that she had said Walter Franklin had not paid her rent, crept off, a lugubrious figure, across the bridge.
Franklin watched her till she was out of sight, then took off his hat, exposing a high, baldish head.
His face was dark, and he began to mutter to himself. Finally, he spoke articulately.
"Am I never to be rid of that scamp?" he said, shaking his fist at the sky. "I have lived in Italy—in exile, so that I should not be troubled with his schemes and rascalities.
I have buried myself here, with my daughter and those three who are faithful to me, in order that he may not find me out.
And now I hear of him.
That woman. She is a spy of his.
I believe she came here from him with a made-up story.
Walter will come, and then I'll have to buy him off.
I shall be glad to do so.
But to be blackmailed by that reptile. No!
I'll go back to Florence first." He replaced his hat and began to dig his stick in the ground. "I wonder if Morley would help me.
He is a shrewd man.
He might advise me how to deal with this wretched brother of mine.
If I could only trust him?" He looked round. "I wonder where he is?
He promised to meet me half an hour ago." Here Franklin glanced at his watch.
"I'll walk over to The Elms and ask who this woman, Mrs. Benker, is.
He may know."
All this was delivered audibly and at intervals.
Giles was not astonished, as he knew from Mrs. Parry that the man was in the habit of talking aloud to himself.
But he was disappointed to receive such a clear proof that Franklin was not the man who had eloped with Anne.
Even if he had been deceiving Mrs. Benker (which was not to be thought of), he would scarcely have spoken in soliloquy as he did if he had not been the man he asserted himself to be.
Giles, saying nothing to his companion, watched Franklin in silence until he was out of sight, and then rose to stretch his long legs, Morley, with a groan, followed his example.
It was he who spoke first.