The physical presence of the Head of the House of Coombe was always
described as a subtly impressive one. Several centuries of rather
careful breeding had resulted in his seeming to represent things
by silent implication. A man who has never found the necessity of
explaining or excusing himself inevitably presents a front wholly
unsuggestive of uncertainty. The front Coombe presented merely
awaited explanations from others.
Carson--or Bayle--had doubtless contemplated seeing a frightened
servant trying to prepare a stammering obvious lie. He confronted
a tall, thin man about whom--even if his clothes had been totally
different--there could be no mistake. He stood awaiting an apology
so evidently that Carson--or Bayle--began to stammer himself
even before he had time to dismiss from his voice the suggestion
of bluster. It would have irritated Coombe immensely if he had
known that he--and a certain overcoat--had been once pointed out
to the man at Sandown and that--in consequence of the overcoat--he
vaguely recognized him.
"I--I beg pardon," he began.
"Quite so," said Coombe.
"Some tenants came to look at the house this morning. They had an
order to view from us. They were sent away, my lord--and decline
to come back. The rent has not been paid since the first half
year. There is no one now who can even PRETEND it's going to be
paid.
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