Waddington smiled sadly.
"That's absurd, Burton," he replied, "and you know it."
Burton considered the subject thoughtfully.
"There must be occupations," he murmured, "where instinctive
truthfulness would be an advantage."
"I can't think of one," Mr. Waddington answered, gloomily. "Besides, I
am too old for anything absolutely new."
"How on earth did you succeed in letting Idlemay House?" Burton asked
suddenly.
"Most remarkable incident," his host declared. "Reminds me of my last
two sales of antique furniture. This man--a Mr. Forrester--came to me
with his wife, very keen to take a house in that precise neighborhood.
I asked him the lowest rent to start with, and I told him that the late
owner had died of typhoid there, and that the drains had practically not
been touched since."
"And yet he took it?"
"Took it within twenty-four hours," Mr. Waddington continued. "He
seemed to like the way I put it to him, and instead of being scared he
went to an expert in drains, who advised him that there was only quite a
small thing wrong. He's doing up some of the rooms and moving in in a
fortnight."
"This sounds as though there might be an opening for an honest
house-agent," Burton suggested.
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