"You had better look at Threlfall as you pass. It has a splendid
situation."
"I will. But why ought I to have heard of the gentleman? I forget his
name."
"Mr. Melrose? Oh, well--he's a legend about here. We all talk about him."
"What's wrong with him? Is he a nuisance?--or a lunatic?"
"It depends what you have to do with him. About here he goes by the name
of the 'Ogre.'"
"How, does he eat people up?" asked the stranger, smiling.
The girl hesitated.
"Ask one of his tenants!" she said at last.
"Oh, he's a landlord, and a bad one?"
She nodded, a sudden sharpness in her gray eyes.
"But that's not the common reason for the name. It's because he shuts
himself up--in a house full of treasures. He's a great collector."
"Of works of art? You--don't need to be mad to do that! It seems to be
one of the things that pays best nowadays--with all these Americans
about. It's a way of investing your money. Doesn't he show them to
anybody?"
"Nobody is allowed to go near him, or his house. He has built a high wall
round his park, and dogs are let loose at night that tear you to pieces."
"Nice man! If it weren't for the dogs, I should brave him. In a small
way, I'm a collector myself."
He smiled, and Lydia understood that the personal reference was thrown
out as a feeler, in case she might be willing to push the conversation
further. But she did not respond, although as he spoke she happened to
notice that he wore a remarkable ring on his left hand, which seemed
to illustrate his remark.
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