Accordingly, as soon as I had done with dinner, I sent my
compliments to the landlord and requested he should take a glass of
wine with me. He came; we exchanged the necessary civilities, and
presently I approached my business.
'By the bye,' said I, 'we had a brush down the road to-day. I dare
say you may have heard of it?'
He nodded.
'And I was so unlucky as to get a pistol ball in the panel of my
chaise,' I continued, 'which makes it simply useless to me. Do you
know any one likely to buy?'
'I can well understand that,' said the landlord, 'I was looking at
it just now; it's as good as ruined, is that chaise. General rule,
people don't like chaises with bullet-holes.'
'Too much Romance of the Forest?' I suggested, recalling my little
friend of the morning, and what I was sure had been her favourite
reading--Mrs. Radcliffe's novels.
'Just so,' said he. 'They may be right, they may be wrong; I'm not
the judge. But I suppose it's natural, after all, for respectable
people to like things respectable about them; not bullet-holes, nor
puddles of blood, nor men with aliases.'
I took a glass of wine and held it up to the light to show that my
hand was steady.
'Yes,' said I, 'I suppose so.'
'You have papers, of course, showing you are the proper owner?' he
inquired.
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