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The stranger jerked the gate open, and
a moment later Peter was confronting the goggled eyes.
"Are you," said a pleasant voice, "by good fortune, Peter
Champneys?"
"Well," said Peter, truthfully, "I can't say anything about the
good fortune of it, but I'm Peter Champneys."
The stranger paused for a moment. He said in a changed tone: "I have
come three thousand miles to have a look at and a talk with you."
"Come in," said Peter, profoundly astonished, "and do it." And he
stepped aside.
His guest shook himself out of dust-coat and goggles and stood
revealed an old man in a linen suit--a tall, thin, brown, very
distinguished-looking old man, with a narrow face, a drooping white
mustache, bushy eyebrows, a big nose, and a pair of fine, melancholy
brown eyes. He stared at Peter devouringly, and Peter stared back at
him quite as interestedly.
"Peter Champneys: Peter Devereaux Champneys, I have come across the
continent to see you. Well! Here you are--and here I am. Have you
the remotest idea _who_ I am? what my name is?" Peter shook his head
apologetically.


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