In accordance with his arrangement with Mr Walker, Mr Toogood went over to Barchester early in the morning and put himself up at 'The Dragon of Wantly'. He now knew the following facts: that Mr Soames, when he lost the cheque, had had with him one of the servants from that inn--that the man who had been with Mr Soames had gone to New Zealand--that the cheque had found its way into the hands of Mrs Arabin, and that Mrs Arabin was the owner of the inn in question. So much he believed to be within his knowledge, and if his knowledge should prove to be correct, his work would be done as far as Mr Crawley was concerned. If Mr Crawley had not stolen the cheque, and if that could be proved, it would be a question of no great moment to Mr Toogood who had stolen it. But he was a sportsman in his own line who liked to account for his own fox. As he was down at Barchester, he thought that he might as well learn how the cheque had got into Mrs Arabin's hands. No doubt that for her own possession of it she would be able to account on her return. But it might be well that he should be prepared with any small circumstantial details which he might be able to pick up at the inn.
He reached Barchester before breakfast, and in ordering his tea and toast, reminded the old waiter with the dirty towel of his former acquaintance with him. 'I remember you, sir,' said the old waiter. 'Iremember you very well. You was asking questions about the cheque which Mr Soames lost before Christmas.' Mr Toogood certainly had asked one question on the subject. He had inquired whether a certain man who had gone to New Zealand had been the post-boy who accompanied Mr Soames when the cheque was lost; and the waiter had professed to know nothing about Mr Soames or the cheque. He now perceived at once that the gist of the question had remained in the old man's mind, and that he was recognised as being in some way connected with the lost money.
'Did I? Ah, yes; I think I did. And I think you told me that he was the man?'
'No, sir; I never told you that.'
'Then you told me he wasn't.'
'Nor I didn't tell you that neither,' said the waiter angrily.
'Then what the devil did you tell me?' To this further question the waiter sulkily declined to give any answer, and soon afterwards left the room. Toogood, as soon as he had done his breakfast, rang the bell, and the same man appeared. 'Will you tell Mr Stringer that I should be glad to see him if he's disengaged,' said Mr Toogood. 'I know he's bad with the gout, and therefore if he'll allow me, I'll go to him instead of his coming to me.' Mr Stringer was the landlord of the inn. The waiter hesitated a moment, and then declared that to the best of his belief his master was not down. He would go and see. Toogood, however, would not wait for that; but rising quickly and passing the waiter, crossed the hall from the coffee-room, and entered what was called the bar. The bar was a small room connected with the hall by a large open window, at which orders for rooms were given and cash was paid, and glasses of beer were consumed--and a good deal of miscellaneous conversation was carried on. The barmaid was here at the window, and there was also, in the corner of the room, a man at a desk with a red nose. Toogood knew that the man at the desk with the red nose was Mr Stringer's clerk. So much he had learned in his former rummaging about the inn. And he also remembered at this moment that he had observed the man with the red nose standing under a narrow archway in the close as he was coming out of the deanery, on the occasion of his visit to Mr Harding. It had not occurred to him then that the man with the red nose was watching him, but it did occur to him now that the man with the red nose had been there, under the arch, with the express purpose of watching him on that occasion. Mr Toogood passed quickly through the bar into the inner parlour, in which was sitting Mr Stringer, the landlord, propped among his cushions.
Toogood, as he entered the hotel, had seen Mr Stringer so placed, through the two doors, which at that moment had both happened to be open. He knew therefore that his old friend the waiter had not been quite true to him in suggesting that his master was not as yet down. As Toogood cast a glance of his eye on the man with the red nose, he told himself the old story of the apparition under the archway.
'Mr Stringer,' said Mr Toogood to the landlord, 'I hope I'm not intruding.'
'Oh dear, no sir,' said the forlorn man. 'Nobody ever intrudes coming in here. I'm always happy to see gentlemen--only, mostly, I'm so bad with the gout.'
'Have you got a sharp touch of it now, Mr Stringer?'
'Not just today, sir. I've been a little easier since Saturday. The worst of this burst is over. But Lord bless you, sir, it don't leave me--not for a single fortnight at a time, now; it don't. And it ain't what I drink, nor it ain't what I eat.'
'Constitutional, I suppose?' said Toogood.
'Look here, sir'; and Stringer showed his visitor the chalk stones in all his knuckles. 'They say I'm a mass of chalk. I sometimes think they'll break me up to mark the scores behind my own door with.' And Mr Stringer laughed at his own wit.
Mr Toogood laughed too. He laughed loud and cheerily. And then he asked a sudden question, keeping his eye as he did so upon a little square open window which communicated between the landlord's private room and the bar. Through this small aperture he could see as he stood a portion of the hat worn by the man with the red nose. Since he had been in the room with the landlord, the man with the red nose had moved his head twice, on each occasion drawing himself closer into his corner; but Mr Toogood, by moving also, had still contrived to keep a morsel of that hat in sight. He laughed cheerily at the landlord's joke, and then he asked a sudden question--looking at the morsel of that hat as he did so.
