floating rumour and village gossip, so that now I am by second nature a
true sceptic and scarcely believe anything unless the evidence for it is
conclusive. Indeed I could never have got to the bottom of this history
if I had believed one tenth part of what I was told, there was so much
of it that was either manifestly false and absurd, or else contradictory
to the ascertained facts. It is therefore only the bare bones of the
story which you will find written here, for I have rejected all the
flowery embroideries which would be entertaining reading enough, I
daresay, for some, but if there be any doubt of the truth of a thing it
is poor sort of entertainment to read about in my opinion.

To get back to our story: Mr. Tebrick having considered how much the
appetite of his neighbours would be whetted to find out the mystery by
his remaining in that part of the country, determined that the best
thing he could do was to remove.

After some time turning the thing over in his mind, he decided that no
place would be so good for his purpose as old Nanny's cottage. It was
thirty miles away from Stokoe, which in the country means as far as
Timbuctoo does to us in London. Then it was near Tangley, and his lady
having known it from her childhood would feel at home there, and also it
was utterly remote, there being no village near it or manor house other
than Tangley Hall, which was now untenanted for the greater part of the
year. Nor did it mean imparting his secret to others, for there was only
Mrs. Cork's son, a widower, who being out at work all day would be
easily outwitted, the more so as he was stone deaf and of a slow and
saturnine disposition. To be sure there was little Polly, Mrs. Cork's
granddaughter, but either Mr. Tebrick forgot her altogether, or else
reckoned her as a mere baby and not to be thought of as a danger.