Sabathier? It's not, I think,' he added boldly, 'a very uncommon
name; with two b's at any rate. Whereabouts is the grave?'

'Quite down at the bottom, under the trees. And the little seat I
told you of is there, too, where I fell asleep. You see,' he
explained, 'the grave's almost isolated; I suppose because he
killed himself.'

Mr Bethany clasped his knuckled fingers on the tablecloth. 'It's
no good,' he concluded after a long pause; 'the fellow's got up
into my head. I can't think him out. We must thrash it out
quietly in the morning with the blessed sun at the window; not
this farthing dip. To me the whole idea is as revolting as it is
incredible. Why, above a century--no, no! And on the other hand,
how easily one's fancy builds! A few straws and there's a nest
and squawking fledglings, all complete. Is that why--is that why
that good, practical wife of yours and all your faithful
household have absconded? Does it'--he threw up his head as if
towards the house above them-- 'does it REEK with him?'

Lawford shook his head. 'She hasn't seen him: not--not apart. I
haven't told her.'

Mr Bethany tossed the hugger-mugger of pamphlets across the
table. 'Then, for simple sanity's sake, don't. Hide it; burn it;
put the thing completely out of your mind. A friend! Who, where
is this wonderful friend?'

'Not very far from Widderstone. He lives--practically alone.'