"Lies?" he repeated, a little truculently.

Tallente looked him up and down. The station master was approaching
now, the whistle had blown, their conversation was at an end.

"I said lies," Tallente observed, "most advisedly." The train was
already on the move, and the departing passenger was compelled to step
hurriedly into a carriage. Tallente, waited upon by the obsequious
station master, strolled across the line to where his car was waiting.
It was not until his arrival there that he realised that Miller had
offered him no explanation as to his presence on the platform of this
tiny wayside station.

"Did you notice the person with whom I was talking?" he asked the
station master.

"A tall, thin gentleman in knickerbockers? Yes, sir," the man replied.

"Part of your description is correct," Tallente remarked drily. "Do you
know what he was doing here?"

"Been down to your house, I believe, sir. He arrived by the early train
this morning and asked the way to the Manor."

"To my house?" Tallente repeated incredulously.

"It was the Manor he asked for, sir," the station master assured his
questioner. "Begging your pardon, sir, is it true that he was Miller,
the Socialist M.P.?"