The year was 1891, the month October, the day Monday. In the dark outside the railway station at Worsted Skeynes Mr. Horace Pendyce''s omnibus, his brougham, his luggage-cart, monopolized space. The face of Mr. Horace Pendyce''s coachman monopolized the light of the solitary station lantern. Rosy-gilled, with fat close-clipped grey whiskers and inscrutably pursed lips, it presided high up in the easterly air like an emblem of the feudal system.