The Mysterious Mr. Bernard Brown

She asked no more questions, but leaned back in her chair, and looked thoughtfully across the open country towards the grey turrets of Kynaston Towers, from which a flag was flying. Mr. Thurwell re-read his agent’s letter with a slight frown upon his forehead. “I don’t know what to do here,” he remarked. “What is it?” she asked absently. She was watching the flag slowly unfurling itself in the breeze, and fluttering languidly above the tree-tops. It was odd to think a master was coming to rule there. “It’s about Falcon’s Nest. I wish I’d never thought of letting it!” “Why? It would be a great deal better occupied surely!” “If I could let it to a decent tenant, of course it would. But, you know that fellow Chapman, of Mallory? He wants it!” She looked up at him quickly. “You surely would not let it to a man like that?” “Certainly not. But, on the other hand, I don’t want to offend him. If I were to decide to stand for the county at the next election, he would be my most useful man in Mallory, or my worst enemy. He’s just the sort of fellow to take offence…quickly, too.” “Can’t you tell him its let!” “Not unless I do let it to someone. Of course not!” “But are there no other applications?” “Yes, there is one other,” he answered; “but the most awkward part of it is that it’s from a complete stranger. Fellow who calls himself ‘Brown.’ ” “Let me see the letter,” she said. He passed it over the table to her. It was written on plain notepaper, in a peculiar, cramped handwriting. “London, May 30. Dear Sir, “I understand from an advertisement in this week’s Field, you are willing to let ‘Falcon’s Nest,’ situated on your estate. I shall be happy to take it at the rent you quote, if not already disposed of. My solicitors are Messrs. Cuthbert, of Lincoln’s Inn; and my bankers, Gregsons. I may add that I am a bachelor, living alone. The favor of your immediate reply will much oblige, Yours faithfully, Bernard Brown” She folded the letter up, and returned it to her father without remark. “You see,” he said, “my only chance of escaping from Chapman, without offending him, is to say it is already let, and to accept this fellow’s offer straight off. But it’s an awful risk. How do I know Brown isn’t a retired tallow-chandler, or something of that sort?”