What does the man who's been away from his native land
for the best part of his life do, as a rule, when at last he sets foot on
it again--eh?"
"I'm not greatly experienced," replied Viner, smiling at the old
solicitor's professional enthusiasm. "What does he do--usually?"
"Makes his way as soon as possible to his native place!" exclaimed Mr.
Pawle, with an expressive flourish of his cigar. "That, usually, is the
first thing he thinks of. You're not old enough to remember the
circumstances, my boy, but I have, of course, a very distinct
recollection of the Tichborne affair in the early seventies. Now, if you
ever read the evidence in that _cause celebre_, you'll remember that the
claimant, Orton, on arriving in England, posing as the missing heir, Sir
Roger Tichborne, did a certain thing, the evidence of which, I can assure
you, was not lost on the jury before whom he eventually came. Instead of
going direct to Tichborne, where you'd naturally have thought all his
affection and interests rested, where did he go? To Whitechapel! Why?
Because the Ortons were Whitechapel folk! The native place called him, do
you see? The first thought he had on setting foot on English soil
was--Whitechapel!"
"Are you suggesting that Ashton was probably a native of Marketstoke?"
asked Viner.
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