That Saturday holiday—the one after the business of the note being found in his pocket-book—was one of the happiest that he had spent since coming to Stow Ormond—a day when the clouds seemed to have lifted, when the sun seemed brighter, and when faith grew more strong. It came from the feeling that he had fought a good fight, and that he had been helped to be more than conqueror.
And yet he had forgotten nothing of his father. He was as anxious as ever to solve the mystery surrounding his disappearance; only now, instead of being impatient, he felt that he was preparing in the best way for seeking the truth by staying with Mr. St. Clive, and by working as hard as ever he could.
And on that same afternoon he walked with Irene as far as the pretty old inn; and old Simon, the landlord, greeted him with a cheery smile; for, indeed, Simon felt a great interest in the lad, seeing that the first scene in his strange story was enacted beneath his roof.
"And how are you, young gentleman?" he asked. "And you, too, missie?"—as the two entered the yard. "Come to pay a visit to old Simon—eh?"
"I have come to talk to you, Simon," answered Ralph. No one ever called the landlord of the Horse and Wheel anything but Simon. "I have come to ask you something."
"That's right, sir! Ask away—though I don't promise to answer if it is a poser. I haven't had the education which you young people enjoy."
"It is nothing to do with education, Simon," laughed Ralph. "I want to ask you whether, now that you have had plenty of time to think of it—as I feel sure you must have thought—do you think that you have any recollection of ever having seen my father before? I feel certain that he knew the place; and if he knew it, perhaps you may be able to think of some one whom he reminds you of."
But Simon shook his head at that question.
"I am afraid that I cannot answer that, sir. Your father certainly did know the place; for when I told him the number of his room he walked right up to it without waiting to be shown. And, in some way, I seem to have a faint recollection of having seen him before; but it is all dim and hazy like, and it wouldn't do to go upon."
"Thank you, Simon. Now the other question—and I want you to keep this to yourself; I have a particular reason for that. Do you know any one in the neighbourhood who drives about in a light trap, and who has a horse lame in its left foreleg?"